UC-NRLF 


'OEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


• 


\ 


But  the  little  brook  still  flows  along 
And  sings  the  same  sweet  happy  song. 


POEMS 
FOR    ALL   CLASSES 


BY 

JOHN  FRANKLIN  BA1R 
H 


AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Andrews  Raid" 

"Lines  To  The  Boys  Of  The  Spanish 
American  War" 

"Poetical  Works" 

"A  Double  Discovery"  (Prose) 

"Complete  Poetical  Works" 


CLEVELAND,  OHIO 

1922 


COPYRIGHT  1922 

BY 
JOHN  FRANKLIN  BA1R 


DEDICATION 

To  my  three  beloved  children, 

Mildred  Irene,  Russell  Franklin,  Laura  LaVern, 

and  to  the  memory  of  my  departed  son, 

John  Raymond, 
this  volume  is  affectionately  dedicated. 


in 


M191824 


PREFACE 

npHE  poems  contained  in  this  volume  have  been  written  un- 
I  der  various,  and  in  many  instances  difficult  conditions. 
I  ask  my  friends,  who  have  been  inquiring  for  years  as  to 
when  my  next  book  was  going  to  appear,  to  remember  that 
for  the  last  twenty-four  years  I  have  been  a  busy  Pastor,  and 
could  give  only  a  very  limited  amount  of  time  to  literary 
work.  Remember,  also,  that  I  and  my  wife  have  been  bring- 
ing up  a  family  of  three  children.  Often  have  I  settled  down 
in  my  study  to  write  a  poem,  only  to  be  interrupted  by  a  gen- 
tle knock  at  my  door,  followed  by  a  child's  question,  "Papa 
are  you  busy?"  Or,  sometimes  it  would  be  my  wife's  voice, 
calling  from  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  informing  me  that  she 
must  have  certain  articles  from  the  store.  Or,  perhaps,  it 
was  one  of  my  members  who  called  to  inform  me  that  Mr. 

B had  died.  Then  I  must  drop  everything  and  prepare  a 

funeral  sermon.  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  who  was  a  phy- 
sician as  well  as  a  poet,  said,  "A  man  who  writes  poetry 
should  not  write  prescriptions."  Perhaps  I  might  also  say 
that,  a  man  who  writes  poetry  should  not  write  sermons. 
However,  I  believe  I  can  truly  say  that  my  sermons  have  not 
suffered  on  account  of  my  poems.  On  the  contrary,  I  believe 
they  have  added  spice  to  them.  I  have  appreciated  the  many 
letters  which  I  have  received  from  readers  of  my  former 
works,  telling  me  of  the  enjoyment  which  they  derived  from 
reading  them. 

It  is  with  the  hope  that  all  will  derive  even  more  enjoy- 
ment from  this  work,  that  the  author  now  presents  "Poems 
For  All  Classes"  to  the  public. 

Mineral  City,  Ohio,  July  4,  1921. 


CONTENTS 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT. 

PAGE 

The  fate  of  the  poet 1 

Enjoyin  the  fruits  of  one's  labors 3 

The  slaughter  of  the  innocents 4 

Which  was  the  rich  man 5 

Midnight  in  June 7 

Do  what  you  can 8 

Wandering  in  the  wilderness 9 

Thots  from  an  old  poem 10 

A  wet  June 11 

Think  I'll  vote  fer  Mister  Booster 12 

The  little  white  church 13 

My  birthplace  15 

A  beam  of  sunshine  in  February 16 

A  scene  most  sweet 17 

We'll  store  the  old  high  chair  away 18 

Bring  out  the  old  high  chair 20 

The  scold  20 

Matrimony,  a  parable   22 

Oh  they  are  all  good  fellows 24 

The  home  of  my  Grand-parents 25 

Will  the  world  have  been  made  better  because  I  lived  in  it  27 

To  the  boys  of  the  Class  of  '97 28 

My  fiftieth  birthday  29 

An  "If"  for  boys 32 

II 
FARM  LIFE. 

Pat  and  the  melon 34 

Fourth  of  July  in  the  country 36 

The  old  Hick'ry  Swing 37 

A  Newlin  huckle-berry  party 39 

The  mosquito  band  41 

vil 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  wheat   42 

In  the  hayfield 43 

The  farmer's  companions   45 

A  ten  year  old  boy's  song  in  June 48 

The  old  way  and  the  new 49 

The  sly  gray  squirrel 51 

An  old  teacher  and  student  meet  after  thirty  years 53 

III 
WAR  POEMS. 

0  dove  of  peace,  where  hast  thou  flown 57 

A  parting  blessing  to  our  soldier  boys 59 

Christmas  Day,  1917 61 

The  Kaiser's  sentence   63 

A  young  soldier's  wife's  song  to  her  babe 65 

Yankee  Doodle,  with  modern  improvements 67 

The  trial  and  execution  of  Edith  Cavell 68 

The  soldier's  mother 70 

How  Tom  Brown  views  the  war 71 

We'll  pay  our  debt  to  Lafayette 73 

The  Kaiser's  doom   75 

Little  Nan's  complaint 76 

Prayer  for  our  sick  soldiers 76 

How  can  we  pray  for  the  Kaiser? 77 

How  about  Dad?   77 

The  thrilling  message 79 

IV 
NATURE'S  BEAUTIES 

Song  of  the  snowflakes   81 

A  street  scene  in  winter 82 

The  Allegheny  Mountains  84 

When  the  blue-birds  northward  fly 85 

To  the  March  wind   86 

A  free  moving  picture  show 87 

viii 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Evening   88 

The  lovely  sunrise 89 

Flowers  of  Spring 91 

The  black-birds    92 

When  the  flowers  show  their  faces 93 

V 

HUMOROUS  POEMS 

Why  he  came  to  the  Parson 95 

House  cleaning 96 

The  fooler  fooled 98 

My  neighbors  plight  99 

A  dutchman's  eulogy  of  Washington 101 

The  Englishman's  dilemma 103 

Three  Dutchmen  who  could  each  speak  one  sentence  in 

English    104 

Sam  Steele's  Durham  Bull 105 

There'd  be  no  use  fer  lawyers  if  all  folks  lived  like  us 106 

The  two  congressmen  108 

Barbary   Frigerator 110 

Backwoods  Jim's  lecture  to  the  High  School  students 112 

VI 
POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN. 

The  goblins  round  my  bed 115 

The  polywog  116 

The  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw 117 

The  boys'  thanksgiving  day 118 

Farmer  Ringer's  gander   119 

Two  girls  I  know 120 

Pond  lilies   121 

My  black  playmate 122 

What  I  saw  on  the  big  road 123 

My  Ma's  griddle  cakes 124 

In  boyhood  days 125 

Caw,  caw !     yaw,  yaw ! 126 

Little  things   126 

lx 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

When  me  an  Lucy  runned  away 127 

Too  bad   129 

If  it  weren't  f er  washin  the  dishes 129 

How  my  sin  found  me  out 130 

The  yaller  jacket's  nest 132 

The  hornet's  nest 133 

How  I  ketched  a  bumblebee 134 

The  bull  frog  135 

A  great  day  is  coming 136 

When  I  disobeyed  my  pa 137 

The  Sarves-Berry  tree  139 

What  the  tools  said 140 

When  I  first  saw  my  sister  in  a  white  dress 141 

The  moonlight  shadows  round  my  bed 143 

The  wonderful  things  I  saw 144 

What  the  wind  can  do 145 

VII 

IN  MEMORIAM. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  146 

Rev.  W.  J.  Miller,  D.D 147 

Clara  Barton    148 

Margaret  E.  Sangster  149 

Will  Carleton   150 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier  152 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 153 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   155 

'Abraham  Lincoln    157 

VIII 
POEMS  To  JAMES  WHITCOME  RILEY. 

To  James  Whitcomb  Riley 159 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder 160 

Apple   Picking    162 

In  memory  of  James  Whitcomb  Riley 164 


CONTENTS 


IX 

PATRIOTIC  POEMS. 

PAGE 

The  Fourth  of  July,  1776 166 

An  Insane  Fourth,  How  Long? 168 

Surrender  of  Cornwallis   170 

Our  Pilgrim  Fathers   171 

X 

RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

My  last  journey 173 

The  blessings  of  affliction  174 

Sweet  communion    174 

Contentment   175 

John,  The  Baptist,  compared  with  Traveling  Evangelists 

of  today 175 

That  home  of  endless  day 177 


Good  Bye 179 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

In  Boyhood  days Frontis-piece 

William  Rarig's  Team  of  Grays 39 


U^ougftt 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  POET. 

There  once  was  a  poet,  a  man  of  great  fame, 

Who  for  many  years  was  treated  with  shame ; 

Men  said  he  was  crazy  because  he  wrote  verse, 

They  hooted  and  jeered  him,  and  what  was  still  worse, 

The  books  that  he  published  they  never  would  buy 

But  jeered  him  and  mocked  him  whene'er  he  came  nigh ; 

But  though  they  derided,  he  still  bravely  stayed 

Right  by  his  vocation  though  little  he  made. 

Although  many  treated  that  good  man  with  shame, 
He  kept  writing  verses  for  years  just  the  same; 
His  dear  wife  and  children  were  all  plainly  clad, 
His  neighbors  beheld  them  and  said,  "Tis  too  bad 
That  Nathan  keeps  writing  and  growing  so  poor, 
If  he'd  take  up  some  other  vocation  I'm  sure 
His  wife  would  go  much  better  clad  and  instead 
Of  being  half  starved  they  would  all  be  well  fed."- 

But  Nathan  kept  striving,  and  said,  "'Tis  no  crime 
For  me  to  write  verses,  I'll  yet  win  in  time" ; 
And  his  gentle  sweet  wife  encouraged  him  too, 
And  said,  "My  dear  Nathan,  you'll  yet  get  your  due" ; 
'Twas  a  struggle  indeed,  but  at  last  came  the  day 
When  his  books  brought  to  him  an  abundance  of  pay, 
And  neighbors  no  longer  would  jeer  him  and  guy, 
But  greeted  him  kindly  whene'er  he  passed  by.  * 

1 


POEMS    FOR  ALL   CLASSES 


He  lived  to  be  old  and  after  he  died 
The  school  children  stood  by  his  casket  and  cried, 
And  men  who  had  jeered  him  before  came  that  day 
And  brought  wreathes  of  flowers  to  tenderly  lay 
On  the  lid  of  his  casket,  and  said,  ''Blessed  be 
That  dear  good  old  man,  the  sweet  memory 
Of  him  and  his  works  shall  e'er  with  us  stay, 
And  while  time  shall  last  shall  ne'er  pass  away." 

Dear  friends,  there  are  poets  still  living  today, 

Who,  like  that  dear  man,  are  getting  poor  pay 

For  the  efforts  they  make  in  order  to  give 

Rich  food  for  the  brain,  some  scarcely  can  live 

On  the  meagre  returns,  I  pray  you  give  heed 

To  the  poets  when  young,  for  your  help  then  they  need; 

Don't  wait  till  they  die  and  then  gently  lay 

Sweet  flowers  upon  them,  but  give  them  today. 

How  often  we  see  sums  lavishly  spent 
In  erecting  a  ponderous,  tall  monument 
In  memory  of  a  poet  who  when 
He  labored  on  earth  was  a  jest  among  men ; 
But  after  he  died  they  all  freely  gave 
Toward  erecting  a  monument  over  his  grave ; 
But  such  is  the  fate  of  the  poet,  so  there, 
Young  poets  keep  striving  and  do  not  despair. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT 


ENJOYIN  THE  FRUITS  OF  ONE'S  LABORS. 

When  the  taters  have  been  gethered  from  the  rows  out  in 

the  patch, 
And  the  bins  down  in  the  cellar  are  a  swellin  with  the 

batch 
That  we've  gethered  in  fer  winter,  and  the  golden  apples 

too, 
In  the  boxes  look  invitin,  where  we've  piled  up  quite  a 

few, 
And  the  wheat  that's  in  the  garner  and  the  corn  and  oats 

and  all 
That  we've  stored  to  feed  the  hosses  and  the  cattle  in  the 

stall ; 
When  our  crops  have  all  been  gethered  we  can  just  sit 

down  and  read, 
Knowin  we  have  been  provided  with  all  food  that  we  will 

need. 

After  one  has  toiled  all  summer  at  hard  work  upon  his 

farm, 
He  can  sit  and  read  his  paper,  by  his  hearthstone  bright 

and  warm, 
With  a  lot  of  satisfaction,    fer   he   knows   that   he   has 

earned 

Ev'ry  solitary  dollar  that  into  his  coffers  turned; 
And  he  knows  that  he's  entitled  fer  to  rest  in  winter  time, 
Fer  he's  worked  and  slaved  all  summer  plowin  fields  and 

scatterin  lime, 
And  although  the  cold  December  winds  may  blow  and  rip 

and  tare, 
He  well  knows  that  he's  provided  with  all  things  and 

need  not  care. 


4  POEMS    FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

There's,  of  course,  some  lazy  fanners  who  won't  never 

dig  nor  scratch, 
Who  allow  the  weeds  and  briars  to  grow  up  in  ev'ry 

patch. 
Who,  when  winter's  frosts  come  f reezin,  sit  and  grumble 

at  their  lot, 
And  will  envy  their  good  nayburs  of  the  stores  that  they 

have  got; 

But  they're  not  the  least  deservin  of  a  person's  sympathy, 
He,  who  does  not  toil  in  summer,  let  him  sit  in  poverty, 
And  go  hungry  durin  winter,  let  him  shiver,  let  him 

prance, 
Fer  he  wouldn't  earn  a  livin  at  the  time  he  had  a  chance. 


THE  SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

What  Sunday  School  boy  or  girl,  who,  when  told 
That  story  of  cruel  King  Herod  of  old, 
How  the  poor  little  innocent  babies  he  killed, 
Is  not  with  contempt  and  bitterness  filled 
For  that  heartless  tyrant,  and  sympathy,  too, 
For  all  the  poor  mothers  who  had  to  pass  through 
That  trying  ordeal  ?    Curse  that  tyrant !  we  say, 
But  are  there  not  many  such  tyrants  today? 

Take  the  man  who  corners  the  market  for  grain 
Or  other  foodstuffs,  and  thereby  will  drain 
All  the  resources  of  the  poor  of  the  land, 
In  the  sight  of  his  God,  he  also  will  stand 
A  tyrant  as  cruel  as  Herod  who  slew 
The  innocent  children,  for  he,  daily,  too, 
Is  slaying  the  innocent  who  cannot  buy 
The  food  which  is  sold  at  prices  so  high. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT 


But  the  God  who  looked  down  on  Bethlehem  then 

And  let  fall  his  wrath  on  such  cruel  men, 

Is  looking  down  on  our  tyrants  today, 

And  sooner  or  later  they  also  will  pay 

The  penalty  for  their  tyrannical  deed 

Of  depriving  the  poor  of  the  things  that  they  need  ; 

When  the  trumpet  shall  sound  upon  that  great  day, 

Such  tyrants  in  teror  will  all  flee  away, 

Away  to  the  mountains,  and  to  them  will  cry, 
O  mountains  fall  on  us,  hide  us  from  the  eye 
Of  the  Judge  of  all  nations  and  kindred  and  land, 
'Tis  the  day  of  his  wrath,  who'll  be  able  to  stand? 
But  'twill  be  too  late  to  cry  to  him  then, 
Now's  the  time  to  repent,  O  oppresor  of  men, 
Go  feed  the  poor  innocents  whom  you've  oppressed, 
And  the  God  of  all  mercy  will  give  your  soul  rest ! 


WHICH  WAS  THE  RICH  MAN? 

Give  me  your  hand  old  comrade,  and  is  it  really  Jack? 
Well,  haint  I  glad  to  see  you,  say,  when  did  you  come 

back 

From  Colerado,  is  it?  the  place  where  you  have  been 
For  twenty-five  long  years  now,  and  you've  been  diggin 

in 

Them  tough  ole  Rocky  Mountains,  a  huntin  after  gold, 
You  must  have  found  a  heap,  too,  leastwise  I  have  been 

told 
You're  worth  two  hundred  thousand,  while  I  am  well 

nigh  dead 
From  toilin  as  a  miller  and  hain't  ten  cents  ahead. 


POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 


How  many  children  have  you  ?  what,  never  married,  now, 
I  haint  heaped  up  the  thousands,  but  I  feel  that  somehow 
I'm  richer  far  than  you  are,  I  have  six  children,  one 
Has  been  away  to  college  where  he  grand  work  has  done ; 
He's  goin  to  be  a  preacher,  it  fills  me  with  delight 
That  he  chose  that  profession,  and  he  is  worth  a  site 
More  than  the  gold  you've  gethered  in  all  the  years  you've 

been 
Out  in  them  Rocky  Mountains  a  knockin  your  pick  in. 

There's  Jenny,  she's  just  lovely,  she's  now  almost  nine- 
teen, 

And  you  nowhere  can  find  them  better  than  her,  I  ween ; 

For  two  years  she's  been  teachin  the  public  school,  and  she 

Is  liked  by  all  her  scholars  and  gits  on  splendidly ; 

There's  John  and  George  out  yonder,  they're  treed  a 
coon,  I  vow, 

The  youngest  were  twin  sisters,  they're  jist  five  years 
old  now; 

You  have  your  hundred  thousands,  but  you'll  admit  'tis 
true, 

When  I  declare  that  I,  sir,  am  richer  far  than  you. 

I'd  rather  work  my  nails  off  to  make  a  livin  for 

A  f am'ly  big  as  mine,  sir,  than  be  a  bachelor ; 

You've  worked  for  that  ere  gold,  sir,  till  you  are  old  and 

gray, 

Soon  you  will  be  a  dyin,  and  then  your  friends  will  lay 
You  in  a  handsome  casket  and  plant  you  in  the  ground, 
And  then  it  will  be  published  these  words,  It  has  been 

found 

Jack  left  two  hundred  thousand,  but  died  without  an  heir, 
Strangers  will  git  your  money,  and  none  for  you  they'll 

care. 


SENTIMENT    AND  THOUGHT 


MIDNIGHT  IN  JUNE. 

I  rose  from  my  bed  at  midnight, 
On  a  calm,  still  night  in  June ; 

I  saw,  shining  in  through  the  window, 
The  lovely  rays  of  the  moon. 

Then  I  leaned  out  of  the  window 
And  beheld  the  glories  of  night, 

The  trees,  with  their  spreading  branches, 
Reflecting  the  bright  moonlight. 

I  noted  the  gloomy  shadows 
Beneath  the  large  maple  trees, 

And  heard  a  soft  low  murmur, 
Caused  by  the  gentle  breeze. 

I  gazed  for  a  moment,  enchanted, 
Viewing  the  beautiful  scene, 

So  quiet,  so  still,  I  murmured, 
How  blissful,  how  serene! 

Then  down  in  the  shining  meadows, 
I  saw  the  cows  and  the  sheep, 

Upon  the  soft,  dewy  grasses, 
All  lying  fast  asleep. 

And  far  away  in  the  distance, 

Upon  a  high  steep  hill, 
So  gloomy,  dark  and  solemn, 

The  forest  tall  and  still. 

I  saw  the  old  mill  below  it, 

I  heard  the  gurgling  sound 
Of  the  rushing  mountain  brooklet 

That  made  the  wheel  go  round. 


POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


I  saw  the  waving  wheatfields, 
With  many  a  well  filled  head 

Which  grew  to  make  the  flour 
Which  gives  us  daily  bread. 

I  laid  me  down  and  pondered 
O'er  all  those  things  I  saw, 

And  said,  with  deep  devotion, 
How  wondrous  is  God's  law ! 


DO  WHAT  YOU  CAN. 

Say  not  within  your  heart,  I  see 
No  chance  in  this  broad  world  for  me, 
And  sit  not  down  to  fret  and  whine 
Because  you  think  you  ne'er  shall  shine 
Before  the  world  as  others  do; 
Fret  not,  for  there's  a  place  for  you. 
The  little  star,  that  shines  on  high, 
Does  not  make  bright  the  entire  sky, 
But  should  each  little  star  complain 
Because  all  heaven's  great  domain 
Is  not  made  bright  by  its  small  ray, 
And  for  that  cause  should  fret  and  say, 
Because  these  brilliant  rays  of  mine 
Do  not  reach  all,  I'll  cease  to  shine, 
The  heavens  all  o'ercast  would  be 
With  gloom  and  darkness,  none  could 
The  beautiful  and  radiant  light 
Which  gladdens  many  hearts  at  night. 
I,  in  this  world  am  but  a  star, 
My  light  may  not  extend  as  far 
Into  the  dark  world's  gloom  as  some, 


SENTIMENT    AND  THOUGHT 


Who  through  the  world  may  go  and  come, 
But  God  has  given  me  some  work 
To  do,  my  task  I  will  not  shirk; 
I'm  one  small  star  in  his  great  plan, 
Therefore,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can. 


WANDERING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

Like  the  Israelites  of  yore, 
We  have  wanderers  at  our  door; 
Here  they  wander  to  and  fro, 
In  the  wilderness  of  woe. 

Round  and  round  and  round  they  go 
In  the  same  old  route  so  slow, 
Grumbling,  growling  all  the  day, 
Wasting,  wasting  time  away. 

In  their  sad  and  weary  plight, 
They  are  murmuring  day  and  night, 
Managing  to  blame  some  one 
For  what  they  themselves  have  done. 

Men  will  offer  them  to  lead, 
But  to  such  they  give  no  heed, 
Though  they  weep  and  mourn  and  cry, 
They  in  ignorance  will  die. 

When  at  last  they  see  the  day, 
They  from  earth  must  pass  away, 
Then  they'll  say,  with  much  chagrin 
Different  it  might  have  been. 


10  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Ah,  alas,  how  many  see 
Their  folly,  when  too  late  it  be! 
But  'twill  do  no  good  to  fret 
For  that  which  they  did  not  get, 

Let  the  young  a  warning  take 
From  their  folly,  and  awake 
To  the  opportunities 
Which  within  their  pathway  lies. 


THOTS  FROM  AN  OLD  POEM. 

Alone  inside  my  study  wall, 
I  sat  and  mused,  the  fam'ly  all 
Had  gone  to  make  a  friendly  call 

On  good  old  Mother  Brown  ; 
I  took  a  text  on  which  to  base 
My  Sunday  theme,  noted  the  place, 
Then  rose  and  from  an  old  book-case, 

Took  a  large  volume  down. 

A  book  of  poems,  one  which  she, 
My  precious  wife,  had  given  me, 
I  opened  it,  hoping  to  see 

Some  lines  appropriate 
Unto  my  text,  I  might  infuse 
Into  my  talk,  we  preachers  use 
Quotations  which  we  often  choose, 

Our  themes  to  illustrate. 

I  chanced  upon  a  poem  old, 

The  author's  name  was  Hannah  Gould, 

In  which  she  reverently  told 

How  she  wrote  in  the  sand, 


SENTIMENT    AND  THOUGHT  11 

Upon  the  ocean  shore,  her  name, 
And  how  soon  afterwards  there  came 
A  wave  and  soon  destroyed  the  same 
Which  she  wrote  with  her  hand. 

The  poem  was  a  short  one,  yet, 
I  ne'er  shall  throughout  life  forget 
The  deep  impression  made,  it  set 

My  mind  to  thinking  how 
We  mortal  creatures  often  stand 
Upon  life's  ocean's  barren  strand, 
And  place  our  hopes  in  sinking  sand 

Through  which  sin's  waves  oft  plow. 

I  pondered  o'er  what  I  had  read, 

Then  clasped  my  hands  and  bowed  my  head, 

And  from  my  heart  this  prayer  I  said, 

"Dear  Savior,  Lord  and  King; 
From  thy  bright  fold,  ne'er  let  me  stray, 
Guide  me  within  the  narrow  way, 
And  grant  that  I  through  life  each  day 

To  thee  may  ever  cling." 


A  WET  JUNE 

If  James  Russell  Lowell  were  living  today, 

And  would  write  about  June,  he  doubtless  would  say, 

As  he  wrote  to  the  daily  rain  falling  tune, 

O  what  is  so  rare  as  sunshine  in  June  ? 

Wherever  we  look  and  whenever  we  listen, 

We  hear  the  rainfall  and  see  the  drops  glisten ; 

Ev'ry  clod  in  the  road  is  turned  to  fine  mud, 

Pedestrians  plod  by  with  a  splash  and  a  thud; 

The  sweet  little  bird's  shining  coat  is  all  wet 


12  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

As  he  seeks  for  stray  worms  he  may  happen  to  get, 
While  his  mate  sits  upon  her  nest  up  so  high 
And  endeavors  to  keep  her  eggs  warm  and  dry. 
There  has  been  very  little  dry  weather  this  June, 
And  it  sets  us  to  wondering  whether  we  soon 
Shall  have  such  a  bright  and  beautiful  day 
As  that  Brother  Lowell  speaks  of  in  his  lay ; 
But  we  will  not  murmur  although  the  rains  fall, 
For  God,  who  is  love,  still  reigns  over  all ; 
So  we  will  let  no  dark  clouds  overspread 
Our  faces,  but  let  us  make  sunshine  instead 
With  sweetest  of  smiles  let  us  shed  brilliant  light, 
And  make  ev'ry  home  all  cheerful  and  bright. 

June  1,  1916. 


THINK  I'LL  VOTE  PER  MISTER  BOOSTER. 

Mr.  Booster's  out  fer  Congress,  he's  been  runnin  round 

all  fall, 

Lectioneerin  mong  the  voters,  he's  been  callin  on  us  all ; 
He's  a  very  slick  tongued  feller  and  he  sez  he'll  do  a  heap 
That  will  benefit  us  farmers  who  engage  in  raisin  sheep ; 
I  know  nothin  wrong  about  him,  know'd  him  since  he 

was  a  lad, 
And  to  tell  the  truth  I  never  heerd  him  say  a  word  that's 

bad; 

He  has  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  fer  his  father  he  was  poor, 
And  he  never  gave  him  money  fer  to  squander  I  am  sure. 

Yes,  Mister  Booster's  honest  as  fur  as  I  can  tell, 
And  if  he  should  be  elected,  he  might  sarve  us  very  well ; 
But  the  trouble  with  them  fellers  that  we  think  are  just 
all  right, 


SENTIMENT    AND  THOUGHT  13 

When  they  get  down  there  to  Congress,  never  will  put  up 

a  fight 
Fer  us  ole  clodhopper  farmers,  but  will  often  sell  their 

votes 
To  them  great  big  corporations  and  them  beer  and  whisky 

bloats ; 
But  while  they're  a  lectioneerin,  they  big  promises  will 

make, 
Then  we  foolishly  vote  fer  them,  and  find  out  they  are  a 

fake. 

But  I  ruther  like  young  Booster,  knowed  his  father  very 

well, 
And  there's  sunthin  kind  o  tells  me  that  he's  not  the  kind 

to  sell 

Out  to  any  corporation  but  will  stand  up  fer  the  right, 
And  fer  poor  as  well  as  wealthy  will  put  up  a  rousing 

fight; 

So  I  kinder  think  I'll  likely  vote  fer  him  on  lection  day, 
And  if  he  does  win  the  office,  I  believe  he'll  make  it  pay 
Fer  the  farmer  in  this  deestrict,  course  he  may  turn  out 

untrue, 
But  I'll  risk  my  vote  upon  him,  then  we'll  see  what  he 

will  do. 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CHURCH. 

When  David  forth  from  his  palace  was  driven 

By  Absalom,  his  disobedient  son, 
He  wept  as  he  crossed  o'er  the  Valley  of  Kedron, 

Because  of  the  act  that  rash  youth  had  done. 


14  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

On  Olivet's  slopes  he  stood,  while  beholding 
The  city  from  which  he  in  terror  had  fled, 

He  thought  of  the  place  in  which  he  had  worshipped 
While  tears  from  his  eyes  in  torrents  were  shed. 

In  agony  of  his  soul  he  there  murmured, 

"My  soul  longeth,  yea,  even  fainteth  for  thee, 

The  courts  of  the  Lord,"  but  his  own  son  was  standing 
A  rock  of  offence,  from  whom  he  must  flee. 

By  business  I  had  from  my  own  home  been  driven, 
From  scenes  of  my  boyhood,  the  valley  so  fair, 

From  the  little  white  church  in  the  village  of  Mill  Grove, 
To  take  up  a  life  of  trials  and  care. 

As  I  worked  in  a  bank  and  over  books  worried, 
And  wore  a  deep  look  of  concern  on  my  face, 

The  shadows  would  often  depart  when  the  thots  of 
My  dear  boyhood  home,  in  my  heart  found  a  place. 

I  would  think  of  the  house,  of  the  barn  and  the  pigpen, 

Of  the  brook  of  clear  water  that  gurgled  close  by, 
The  stile  and  the  snake  fence,  the  springhouse  and  corn- 
crib 

And  swallows  which  through  the  old  red  barn  would 
fly. 

I  fancied  again  that  I  tasted  the  apples 

Which  in  the  old  orchard  abundantly  grew ; 

And  dined  on  the  fish  which  from  the  clear  water, 
I  with  my  stout  line  in  large  quantities  drew. 

A  vision  I  saw  of  myself  again  climbing 

The  old  chestnut  tree  which  stood  high  on  the  hill, 

To  shake  down  the  nuts  to  my  happy  companions 
Who  with  the  brown  fruit  ev'ry  pocket  would  fill. 


SENTIMENT    AND  THOUGHT  15 

And  then  my  thots  turned  to  the  white  church  at  Mill 
Grove, 

Where  mother  first  took  me  when  I  was  quite  small; 
All  scenes  of  my  boyhood  were  dear,  but  that  building 

Brings  mem'nes  to  me  that  are  dearer  than  all. 

As  thots  of  those  days  spent  there  in  my  childhood, 

So  vividly  came  back  again  unto  me ; 
I  cried  in  the  words  of  David,  the  Psalmist, 

My  soul  longeth,  yea,  even  fainteth  for  thee! 

And  thus  as  I  onward  pursue  my  life's  journey, 
And  mem'ries  of  those  happy  days  come  to  me, 

And  visions  appear,  there  is  none  that  is  dearer 
Than  that  little  white  church,  and  never  shall  be. 


MY  BIRTHPLACE. 

To  me  Westmoreland  County 

Is  the  dearest  spot  on  earth, 

For  it  was  in  her  bosom 

That  I  was  given  birth; 

Not  in  a  costly  mansion, 

But  in  a  house  of  logs, 

Close  by  a  little  brooklet, 

Where  croaked  the  green  bull-frogs. 

That  old  house  still  is  standing, 

Though  covered  now  with  boards ; 

To  me  fond  recollections, 

It  evermore  affords; 

Quite  often  I  pass  by  it, 

And  ev'ry  time  I  do, 

My  heart  is  thrilled  within  me 

With  pleasure  through  and  through. 


16  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Old  Greensburg  then  was  little, 
But  now  she's  large  and  grand, 
Made  rich  by  her  surrounding? 
The  large  tracts  of  coal  land; 
Her  large  and  costly  mansions 
Are  counted  by  the  score, 
To  me  that  makes  no  diff'rence. 
I  love  that  old  house  more. 

Some  people  may  despise  it 
And  think  it  a  disgrace, 
But  I  am  proud  that  I  was 
Born  in  that  humble  place; 
And  I  will  ever  cherish, 
No  matter  where  I  roam, 
The  fondest  recollections 
Of  that,  my  childhood  home. 


A  BEAM  OF  SUNSHINE  IN  FEBRUARY 

When  the  sun  beats  down  upon  us  on  a  bright  day  in  July, 

Then  we  hunt  the  shady  places,  wipe  our  faces,  then  we 
sigh, 

O  this  hot  and  sultry  weather,  yet  it  does  to  us  no  harm, 

But  brings  to  us  many  blessings,  for  the  fruits  upon  the 
farm 

Would  not  ripen  if  the  sun's  rays  were  withdrawn,  and 
we  should  die, 

For  we'd  never  see  a  raincloud  float  above  us  in  the  sky ; 

Nor  would  corn  nor  wheat  nor  flowers,  nor  would  fruits 
be  seen  to  grow, 

And  this  world  would  be  a  dreary,  barren  desert  here  be- 
low. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT        .  17 

Tho  we  sigh  in  summer  season  on  account  of  scorching 
heat, 

In  the  month  of  February,  'tis  a  rich  delightful  treat, 

When  the  wind  is  blowing  fiercely  and  the  snowflakes 
whirl  about, 

To  behold  the  dark  clouds  parting  and  the  sun's  rays 
peeping  out; 

Then  the  children  are  made  happy  when  they  see  a  sun- 
beam fall, 

And  its  bright  reflection  lighting  on  the  carpet  or  the  wall ; 

Do  not  grumble,  little  children,  at  the  sun's  fierce  scorch- 
ing heat, 

For  if  it  should  cease  its  shining  we  would  have  no  food 
to  eat. 


A  SCENE  MOST  SWEET 

In  the  room  adjoining  my  study, 

On  a  neat  little  bed  there  lies 

A  beautiful  sweet  little  baby 

With  eyes  like  the  blue  summer  skies. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  point  eleven, 
'Tis  late  in  the  morning,  'tis  true, 
But  that  darling  baby's  just  waking, 
And  a  lovely  scene  comes  to  my  view. 

She  does  not  wake  up  with  crying, 
But  laughing  and  cooing  with  glee; 
When  I  come  to  her  how  she  stretches 
Her  sweet  little  hands  out  to  me. 
2 


18  .         POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

I  take  her  up  in  my  arms  gently 

And  say,  "My  sweet  love,  how  are  you" 

And  the  sweet  darling's  face  brightly  glistens 

As  she  answers  me  softly,  "Agoo!" 

And  I  think,  what  a  gift  God  has  given 
To  us,  and  the  words  Jesus  said, 
"For  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven," 
When  he  placed  his  hands  on  a  child's  head. 

And  I  silently  breathe  this  petition, 
"Dear  Jesus,  our  little  ones  take 
In  Thine  arms  and  give  them  Thy  blessing 
That  Thy  Word  they  may  never  forsake." 

"In  the  path  which  leads  up  to  heaven, 
Dear  Lord  ever  guide  their  small  feet, 
And  bring  them  to  heavenly  mansions, 
Their  Lord  and  Redeemer  to  greet." 


WE'LL  STORE  THE  OLD  HIGH  CHAIR  AWAY. 

There  stands  the  old  high-chair,  Laura. 

Our  baby's  now  past  four, 
He's  now  so  large  he  will  not  need 

His  high-chair  any  more; 
When  Mildred  was  a  babe,  Laura, 

We  purchased  it  for  her, 
And  once  she  tumbled  out  of  it, 

Did  not  that  cause  a  stir? 

Then  by  and  by  a  second  babe, 

A  bouncing  bright  boy  came 
And  brot  more  sunshine  to  our  home, 

To  whom  we  gave  the  name 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  19 

Of  Russell,  and  that  high-chair  soon 

To  him  was  given  o'er, 
Now  it  appears  that  he,  henceforth, 

Will  need  the  chair  no  more. 

If  our  third  child,  dear  Raymond,  had 

But  lived,  we  would  today 
Have  no  need  to  take  up  that  chair 

And  store  it  thus  away ; 
But  God  willed  that  our  darling  should 

Early  retire  to  rest, 
So  we  will  bow  to  His  decree, 

For  He  knows  what  is  best. 

To  store  the  chair  away,  Laura, 

Is  sad  indeed  to  me, 
The  tears  will  come  and  yet  I  feel 

How  thankful  we  should  be 
That  both  our  darlings  have  been  spared 

To  us,  and  that  today, 
Because  they  are  too  large,  we  can 

Thus  store  the  chair  away. 

We'll  store  the  chair  away,  Laura, 

We'll  do  it  rev'rently, 
Not  out  of  sight,  but  in  a  place 

Where  we  may  often  see 
That  relic  of  those  early  days, 

When  we,  with  tender  care, 
Took  up  our  darling  babes  and  placed 

Them  in  that  old  high  chair. 


20  POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

BRING  OUT  THE  OLD  HIGH  CHAIR. 

Bring  out  the  old  high-chair  again, 

We  need  it  now  you  see, 
For  our  La  Vern  is  five  months  old, 

A  darling  babe  is  she  ; 
She's  strong  enough  to  sit  alone, 

Bring  out  the  old  high  chair, 
'Twill  bring  great  joy  to  all  our  hearts, 

To  seat  our  darling  there. 

O  how  it  fills  one's  heart  with  joy 

To  see  her  seated  there, 
And  that  we  have  occasion  thus 

To  bring  out  that  old  chair; 
God  bless  our  darling  little  babe, 

May  she  grow  up  to  be 
A  woman  filled  with  wisdom  and 

Pure  Christian  charity. 


THE  SCOLD. 

She  scolds  in  early  morning 

As  soon  as  she  gets  up, 
She  scolds  while  she  is  pouring 

The  coffee  in  her  cup; 
She  scolds  while  she  is  spreading 

Her  butter  on  her  bread, 
She  scolds  while  she  is  sewing 

With  needle  and  with  thread  ; 
She  scolds  while  she  is  making 

Her  pudding  or  beef  broth, 
She  scolds  while  she  is  cutting 

A  garment  out  of  cloth; 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT 


She  scolds  if  her  small  children 

But  walk  across  the  floor, 
She  scolds  whene'er  a  neighboi 

Comes  knocking  at  her  door; 
She  scolds  whene'er  the  company, 

Expected,  did  not  come, 
She  scolds  whene'er  the  street-car 

Goes  by  with  buzz  and  hum; 
She  scolds  whene'er  her  husband 

Brings  some  one  home  to  tea, 
And  when  alone,  she  scolds  because 

She  has  no  company; 
She  scolds  whene'er  she  washes 

And  hangs  out  clothes  to  dry, 
She  scolds  because  'tis  gloomy 

And  clouds  o'erspread  the  sky; 
She  scolds  when  she  goes  calling, 

About  the  sun's  fierce  heat, 
And  when  it  rains,  she  always  scolds 

Because  she  gets  wet  feet; 
She  scolds  whene'er  her  preacher 

Makes  sermons  rather  long, 
And  when  the  choir  sweetly  sings, 

She  scolds  about  their  song  ; 
She  scolds  when  morning's  dawning, 

Because  it  is  daylight, 
And  when  the  day  has  ended, 

She  scolds  because  'tis  night  ; 
She  scolds  when  she  is  sleeping, 

While  lying  in  her  bed, 
Now  some  one  has  predicted 

She'll  scold  when  she  is  dead. 


22  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

MATRIMONY,  A  PARABLE. 

Two  trav'lers,  one  bright  summer  day, 
Together  sauntered  on  their  way ; 
Neither  of  them  had  traveled  o'er 
That  road  at  any  time  before. 

They  traveled  on,  about  midday 

A  rapid  stream  lay  in  their  way ; 

A  bridge  of  rough  hewn  logs  of  wood, 

On  piers  of  crumbling  sandstone  stood. 

"This  bridge  unsafe,"  a  placard  said, 
"You  must  cross  o'er  the  bridge  instead 
Up  by  the  flour  mill  at  Brisque, 
If  you  cross  here,  'tis  at  your  risk." 

This  warning  both  the  trav'lers  read, 
One,  grumbling,  to  the  other  said, 
"I  will  not  walk  so  far  around, 
I've  traveled  o'er  enough  of  ground !' 

"That  bridge  is  strong  enough,  I  vow, 
For  me,  I'll  risk  it  anyhow; 
"You  can  go  round,  I'll  brave  it  through, 
And  I'll  cross  o'er  before  you  do !" 

The  other  said,  "You'd  better  take 
The  warning,  for  no  doubt  you'll  stake 
Your  life,  the  supervisor  knew 
His  business  better  than  you  do!" 

But  to  entreaties  he  said,  "No, 
Across  that  bridge  I'm  bound  to  go!" 
And  so  the  trav'lers  parted  there, 
Now  you  shall  hear  how  each  did  fare. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  23 

He  who  would  not  heed  good  advice, 
Walked  on  the  bridge,  and  in  a  trice, 
Its  rotton  beams  and  planks  gave  way, 
And  he,  pinned  fast,  all  helpless  lay. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  traveler  sped 
On  toward  the  solid  bridge  ahead. 
He  reached  it  and  crossed  safely  o'er 
Then  walked  along  the  other  shore. 

Soon  he  beheld  his  comrade's  plight, 
The  sun  had  set,  'twas  almost  night; 
His  comrade  gave  a  piteous  shout, 
"Have  mercy,  pard,  come  help  me  out." 

The  man  secured  some  help  near  by, 
Who,  with  small  boats  and  rope  and  pry, 
Released  him  long  about  midnight, 
From  his  unpleasant  awful  plight. 

This  story  is  a  parable, 

Its  meaning  now  to  you  I'll  tell. 

So  young  men  and  young  ladies,  too, 

Give  heed,  the  lesson  is  for  you. 

The  river,  which  so  swiftly  flowed, 
Is  matrimony,  and  the  road 
Which  leads  to  it  may  be  a  route 
That's  short  and  straight,  or  round  about. 

It  matters  not  which  road  you  take, 
But  one  thing  sure,  unless  you  make 
Your  bridge  across,  both  firm  and  strong, 
You'll  sink  beneath  the  wreck  ere  long. 


POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


And  there  you'll  lie  and  scream  and  shout 
For  relatives  to  help  you  out  ; 
Then  heed  the  sign,  don't  try  to  go 
Across  that  bridge  that  wobbles  so. 


0  THEY  ARE  ALL  GOOD  FELLOWS. 

1  took  a  stroll  out  on  the  pike 
One  bright  September  day; 

I  saw  upon  the  posts  and  trees 

And  rocks  along  the  way, 
Portraits  of  many  handsome  men, 

O  'twas  a  sight  to  see! 
I  read  some  lines  and  found  they  all 

Were  anxious  to  see  me. 

Some  of  them  did  call  at  my  home 

To  see  me,  others  said 
They  had  not  time  to  call,  so  they 

Just  wrote  to  me  instead, 
And  sent  me  cardlike  souvenirs, 

Each  had  a  name  on  it, 
And  underneath,  "Your  influence 

And  vote  we  solicit." 

How  kind  of  them  to  call  on  me, 

A  common  fellow,  why, 
I  never  knew,  before  they  called, 

Thai  such  a  man  as  I 
Had  such  great  influence  as  they 

Declared  that  I  possessed; 
To  hear  them  talk,  you'd  think  my  vote 

Would  win  for  them  the  rest. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  25 

There's  quite  an  army  of  them  out, 

And  all  good  fellows,  too; 
Give  them  the  offices  they  seek, 

And  they'll  prove  good  and  true; 
Not  one  of  them,  by  graft  or  fraud, 

Will  his  own  pockets  fill, 
They  all  will  serve  their  country  well, 

At  least  they  say  they  will. 


THE  HOME  OF  MY  GRANDPARENTS. 

'Twas  not  a  mansion  with  bright  walls, 
With  parlors  grand  and  stately  halls; 
No  force  of  servants  went  about 
Doing  the  work  inside  and  out ; 
They  did  not  drive  a  fancy  pair 
Of  horses  to  the  County  Fair; 
No  fancy  drive-ways  circled  round 
And  no  retaining  walls  were  found, 
Nor  concrete  walks  or  graveled  lane, 
Ah  no,  all  things  were  very  plain ! 
A  log  house  by  a  country  road, 
Was  where  my  grandparents  abode, 
The  old  porch,  with  its  shattered  roof, 
Was  not  considered  waterproof. 
But  O,  the  pleasure  and  the  joy 
That  I  experienced  when  a  boy, 
In  that  old  house,  the  memory 
Of  those  good  days  is  dear  to  me ! 
Well  I  remember  how  we  oft 
Would  climb  the  stairs  into  the  loft, 
And  crack  and  eat  a  goodly  share 


POEMS  FOR   ALL  CLASSES 


Of  hick'ry-nuts  which  we  found  there, 

And  how  with  shouts  of  joy  and  glee, 

We  climbed  the  large  mulberry-tree, 

And  in  its  branches  stayed  until 

Of  berries  we  all  had  our  fill. 

I  watched  grandfather,  with  his  hoe, 

Down  in  the  corn-field  just  below; 

His  form  with  age  and  toil  was  bent, 

Slowly  from  hill  to  hill  he  went; 

A  very  nervous  man  was  he, 

His  hands  both  shook  exceedingly, 

But  still  he  slowly  toiled  away 

In  that  cornfield  day  after  day, 

While  dear  grandmother  went  about 

Within  her  garden,  setting  out 

Her  flower  plants,  which  she  with  care 

Would  nurture  in  her  garden  there. 

They  both  have  crossed  the  River  o'er, 

There  humble  home  stands  there  no  more; 

We  who  were  boys  then,  now  have  grown 

To  manhood  and  now  have  our  own 

Sweet  children,  and  some  silver  threads 

Are  here  and  there  seen  on  our  heads ; 

But  time  itself  cannot  erase 

From  memory  that  lovely  place 

Where  I,  when  but  a  little  boy, 

Was  filled  with  happiness  and  joy; 

Till  time  shall  end,  sweet  memory 

Of  that  dear  home  shall  dwell  with  me. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  27 

WILL  THE  WORLD  HAVE  BEEN  MADE 
BETTER  BECAUSE  I  LIVED  IN  IT? 

As  I  travel  on  life's  journey, 

Wearily  I  wend  my  way, 
Striving  to  do  my  plain  duty 

As  I  journey  day  by  day; 
As  I  jourey  I  am  thinking 

How  small  my  work  does  appear, 
Will  the  world  have  been  the  better, 

Just  because  I  journeyed  here? 

I  am  but  a  dot  upon  it, 

And  a  very  small  one  too ; 
I  am  very  weak  and  humble, 

Tis  but  tlittle  I  can  do; 
After  I  take  my  departure, 

And  on  earth  no  more  appear, 
Will  the  world  have  been  made  better 

Just  because  I  labored  here? 

Though  I  may  have  but  one  talent, 

I  will  use  it  day  and  night, 
And  with  God's  rich  blessing  on  it, 

I  will  give  the  world  some  light; 
Having  thus  done  my  full  duty, 

I  shall  die  and  have  no  fear 
That  the  world  was  not  made  better 

Just  because  I  journeyed  here. 


POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


TO  THE  BOYS  OF  THE  CLASS  OF  '97. 

Recited  at  the  twentieth  anniversary  banquet  of  the  class  of  1897 
of  the  Eastern  Theological  Seminary  given  at  Lancaster,  Pa.,  May  1917 

Is  this  the  old  class  of  jolly  bright  boys, 
Who  made  the  halls  ring  with  laughter  and  noise ; 
Who,  three  years  together,  chewed  Hebrew  and  Greek, 
Who  studied  and  fretted  for  many  a  week? 

Are  these  the  same  fellows  who  plagued  Dr.  Cast, 
Because  they  read  Hebrew  at  sight  very  fast, 
And  swallowed  Dogmatics  and  Ethics  wholesale, 
And  never  felt  sick  or  even  turned  pale? 

Speak  out  then,  I  say,  if  you're  not  the  same 
Jolly  class  that  twenty-three  years  ago  came 
And  mingled  together  for  three  solid  years, 
Who  tortured  each  other  with  good  natured  jeers. 

I  see  you  are  silent,  well,  that  gives  consent, 
Yes,  we  are  the  same  young  fellows  who  spent 
Those  three  happy  years,  and  now,  once  again, 
We  gather  together,  a  class  of  young  men. 

I  say  we  are  young,  who  says  we  are  old? 
Go,  seize  him  and  cast  him  out  into  the  cold ; 
Let  no  one  be  heard  to  speak  of  gray  hair, 
Or  heads  that  are  bald,  no  sir,  don't  you  dare. 

Though  twenty  long  years  have  passed  by  and  flown, 
It  seems  that  not  one  of  us  has  older  grown ; 
I  gaze  on  your  faces,  the  same  smiles  are  there, 
And  all  seem  as  young  and  tender  and  fair 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT 


As  you  all  appeared  that  memorable  night 
When  we,  twenty-seven,  all  filled  with  delight, 
Received  our  diplomas,  our  school  days  were  o'er, 
None  knew  what  the  world  for  him  held  in  store. 

To  our  dear  Alma  Mater,  we  sang  our  farewell, 
Then  each  went  his  way,  some  few  went  to  dwell 
Far  out  in  the  West,  some  kept  nearer  home, 
And  two  restless  fellows  were  destined  to  roam 
About,  o'er  the  country,  serving  church  boards,   from 
And  one  has  departed  to  mansions  above.  [love, 

I  greet  you,  dear  classmates,  pray,  do  not  be  hard 

On  these  humble  verses  of  your  humble  bard; 

Like  Holmes,  who  oft  wrote  of  his  class,  "Twenty  Nine," 

I  dedicate  this  to  you  classmates  of  mine ; 

Wherever  you  journey,  believe  me,  'tis  true, 

My  very  best  wishes  go  always  with  you. 


MY  FIFTIETH  BIRTHDAY. 

August  29,  1917. 

As  the  twenty-ninth  of  August 
Dawned  upon  us,  bright  and  clear, 
With  the  soft  winds  gently  blowing 
Swaying  cornstalks  far  and  near,  — 
I  awoke  all  filled  with  rapture, 
Gentle  voices  seemed  to  say, 
Happy  greetings  we  are  bringing 
On  your  fiftieth  birthday. 


30  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

"Fifty  years,  indeed,"  I  murmured, 

"Can  it  be  'tis  truly  so?" 

Then  I  took  a  backward  journey 

To  the  days  of  long  ago ; 

Saw  the  years  pass  by  before  me, 

From  my  boyhood  until  now, 

Then  my  hair  was  brown  as  chestnut, 

Snow  of  age  now  on  my  brow. 

First  I  saw  myself  a  youngster, 
A  plain  stripling,  four  years  old, 
Sitting  by  the  kitchen  fire 
When  outside  was  bleak  and  cold; 
Saw  the  dawn  of  pleasant  Springtime 
And  myself  a  barefoot  boy 
Playing  by  the  dusty  roadside, 
Ragged,  dirty,  full  of  joy. 

Then  again,  the  scene  was  altered, 

To  my  view  a  school-room  came 

Old  box  desks  defaced  by  jack-knives, 

Yet,  it  was  the  very  same 

That  I  years  ago  attended, 

Half  a  dozen  rods  I  saw, 

Which  the  old  time  teacher  wielded 

Ev'ry  time  we  broke  the  law. 

Soon  I  saw  myself  no  longer 
In  the  school-room,  sad  to  say, 
But  at  work  in  dismal  coal-mines, 
Sadly  yearning  ev'ry  day 
To  obtain  an  education, 
But,  alas,  small  hope  had  I! 
But  I  made  firm  resolutions 
That  to  get  one  I  would  try. 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  31 

Then  I  saw  myself  at  night-time 
Struggling  with  my  books  alone, 
Wrestling  with  some  stiff  old  problem 
That  seemed  hard  as  any  stone ; 
But  I  saw  myself  determined 
Never  to  give  up  the  ship, 
To  improve  each  shining  moment, 
And  to  let  no  spare-time  slip. 

Years  of  struggle  I  saw  passing, 
Saw  myself  oft  called  a  fool, 
And  at  last,  in  Hempfield  Township, 
Saw  me  teaching  public  school ; 
Saw  myself  prepare  for  college. 
In  a  school  we  called  "The  Sem.," 
And  one  glad  day  saw  me  enter 
College,  dear  old  F.  and  M. 

Then,  inside  the  Seminary, 
Saw  my  course  with  others  run, 
Saw  me  through  unto  the  finish, 
Saw  at  last  my  school  days  done ; 
Saw  myself  preaching  the  Gospel, 
At  a  salary  quite  small, 
That  would  scarcely  pay  my  board-bill, 
Clothes  and  interest  and  all. 

Later  on  I  saw  me  taking 
A  sweet  lady  by  the  hand, 
Saw  us  make  the  sacred  promise 
That  we'd  by  each  other  stand; 
Saw  us  struggling  on  together, 
Meeting  many  trials  sore, 
Hoping,  praying  that  we  some  day 
Might  have  better  things  in  store. 


32  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Saw  the  coming  of  four  children 
To  cheer  up  our  humble  home, 
Saw  us  sadly  bear  one  baby 
Gently  to  the  silent  tomb. 
Thus  the  vision  passed  before  me, 
Which  I  here  to  you  portray, 
And  I  said,  'tis  true,  I'm  fifty 
Years  of  age  this  very  day!" 

Then  I  prayed,  "Dear  Heavenly  Father, 
For  the  past,  I  give  to  Thee 
Hearty  thanks,  and  pray  that  future 
Blessings  may  be  sent  to  me; 
May  the  days,  allotted  to  me, 
Bring  more  blessings  than  the  past, 
And  when  I  my  course  have  finished, 
May  I  rest  in  peace  at  last. 


AN  "IF"  FOR  BOYS. 

If  you  can  rise  up  ev'ry  morning  early, 
E'en  tho  you're  called  before  it  is  daylight ; 

If  you  can  laugh  instead  of  acting  surly, 

Your  face  and  eyes  all  beaming  with  delight ; 

If  you  can  go,  without  your  mother  saying, 
And  wash  completely  both  your  hands  and  face; 

If  you  can  carefully  assist  her  laying 
The  knives,  the  fi  rks  and  dishes  in  their  place; 

If  you  can  find  your  coat  and  cap  each  morning 
Both  hung  up  trim  and  neat  upon  the  rack ; 

If  you  can  cross  the  floor  without  a  warning 
To  clean  your  feet  and  not  to  make  a  track; 


SENTIMENT  AND  THOUGHT  33 

If  you  can  gracefully  respect  your  mother's  wishes, 
When  you  come  home,  to  gently  close  the  door ; 

If  you  can  kindly  wash  for  her  the  dishes, 
And  neatly  sweep  and  mop  the  kitchen  floor ; 

If  you  can  treat  your  sister  just  as  kindjy 
As  other  girls  with  whom  you  come  in  touch, 

And  do  small  duties,  others  often,  blindly, 
Are  heard  to  say  do  not  amount  to  much ; 

If  you  can  overcome  all  evil  inclinations, 

Refuse  tobacco  and  foul  cigarettes; 
Always  reject  alluring  invitations, 

E'en  when  beneath  companions'  jeers  and  threats; 

If  you  can,  when  you  borrow  things  from  father, 
Return  them  always  promptly  to  their  place ; 

If  you  can  save  him  extra  steps  and  bother, 
And  cause  broad  smiles  to  ornament  his  face ; 

If  you  can,  when  at  any  task  you're  working, 

Keep  diligently  at  it  till  you're  free ; 
If  you  can  do  each  duty  without  shirking, 

You'll  be  about  a  model  man  for  me. 

March  19,  1921. 


34  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


iJarrn  ls)i?e. 


PAT  AND  THE  MELON. 

An  Irishman  came  to  Mill  Grove  one  day 
And  hired  himself  to  a  farmer  near  by; 
Said  he,  "Indade  now  I've  struck  a  foine  job, 
No  Irishman  iver  was  lucky  as  I." 
I'll  soon  have  a  hape  o  money  and  thin 
I'll  send  a  big  roll  across  the  dape  sea, 
To  Kate  my  swateheart  and  tell  her  to  come 
And  live  with  me  in  the  blist  land  of  the  free." 

"And  now,  Mr.  Beaver,"  said  Pat,  with  a  grin, 
"I  am  at  your  sarvice,  now  plaze  tell  me  what 
You'll  have  me  to  do  today,  and  at  once 
I'll  go  at  it  with  all  the  strength  I  have  got." 
Then  Beaver  replied,  "The  first  thing  today, 
I'll  have  you  to  do,  Pat,  go  out  in  that  patch 
And  gather  those  melons,  we'll  haul  them  all  off 
To  market  tomorrow,  there'll  be  quite  a  batch." 

"And  what  is  a  milon,  pray  tell  me?"  said  Pat, 
Said  Beaver,  "You  see  those  balls  in  that  field, 
We  grow  them  by  hundreds,  a  field  of  that  size, 
When  the  season  is  good,  a  large  crop  will  yield." 
"And  what  do  you  do  with  the  milons?"  said  Pat; 
Said  Beaver,  "Just  wait,"  and  seizing  a  knife, 
Cut  a  melon  in  two,  "Taste  that  now  and  see 
If  ever  you  ate  better  grub  in  your  life." 


FARM    LIFE  35 


Pat  tasted  the  pulp,  his  face  brightly  shone, 
Said  he,  "Shure  it  bates  all  the  praties  e'er  raised 
In  ould  Ireland's  soil,  how  I  wish  Kate  was  here, 
I  know  with  delight  she'd  shurely  be  crazed; 
Bliss  the  day  when  I  set  my  feet  on  the  sod 
Of  Roaring  Creek  Valley,  'tis  here  I  will  stay, 
And  if  I  don't  die  of  joy,  I  am  shure 
I'll  be  havin  a  patch  of  me  own  some  swate  day.'f 

Now  it  happened  that  Kim,  Mr.  Beaver's  third  son, 
Then  sixteen,  was  noted  for  playing  shrewd  tricks; 
'Twas  not  very  long  till  he  played  a  sly  prank 
Which  put  the  poor  Irishman  in  a  bad  fix. 
A  large  hornet's  nest  hung  on  an  oak  tree 
Just  back  of  the  barn,  Kim  climbed  up  one  day 
And  stuffed  the  hole  shut,  with  the  hornets  all  in, 
He  took  down  the  nest  and  bore  it  away. 

Then  beaming  with  mischief,  he  hunted  up  Pat, 
Said  he,  "Pat,  I've  brought  you  a  melon  to  eat ; 
This  kind  grows  on  trees,  its  flavor  is  rich, 
To  get  such  a  one  is  sure  a  rare  treat." 
Pat  grinned  a  broad  grin,  then  took  up  the  nest, 
Said  he,  "And  I'm  much  oblaged  to  you,  Kim," 
Then  broke  it  in  two,  and  out  quick  as  flash, 
The  hornets  all  flew  with  fury  at  him. 

Pat  let  out  a  yell,  and  struck  right  and  left, 

"Shure  I  niver  thought  that  the  seeds  would  fly  out 

With  such  force  as  that,  just  see  the  quare  things, 

That  little  black  haythen's  still  flying  about ; 

They  shot  out  so  hard,  some  stuck  on  me  lips, 

And  some  on  me  nose,  and  some  in  me  hair, 

A  wonderful  milon  was  that  one  indade, 

Jist  look,  some  seeds  still  are  a  flyin  up  thare." 


36  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RURAL  DISTRICTS. 

There  was  booming  in  the  city, 
There  the  cannon  crackers  roared, 
Buildings  decked  with  flags  and  bunting. 
While  baloons  above  them  soared; 
Trolly-cars  and  autos  humming, 
Girls  and  women  galy  dressed, 
Bottblacks,  porters,  and  loud  newsboys, 
In  the  moving  throng  were  pressed. 

But  out  in  the  rural  districts, 

All  was  quiet,  more  or  less, 

Here  and  there  a  few  proud  youngsters, 

Packs  of  crackers  did  possess. 

At  the  dawning  of  the  morning, 

A  few  booming  shots  were  heard, 

Making  hens  and  roosters  cackle, 

Startling  forth  the  mother  bird. 

But  the  grand  old  flag  was  waving 
From  the  farmhouse,  for  the  true 
Genuine,  pure  patriotism 
Lurks  among  the  farmers  too, 
For,  from  off  the  farm,  the  soldiers 
Came  by  thousands  when  our  land, 
By  our  gallant  boys  was  rescued 
From  the  cruel  tyrant's  hand. 

There  is  joy  out  in  the  country 
On  the  Forth  day  of  July, 
In  the  groves  the  people  gather 
And  picnic  on  cake  and  pie, 


FARM    LIFE  37 


Lemonade  and  other  good  things 
Which  the  people  bring  to  eat, 
Doubtful  if  a  city  banquet 
Could  afford  so  rich  a  treat. 

There  the  children  skip  and  scamper, 
Chasing  round  in  wild  delight, 
And  the  people  keep  on  dining 
All  day  long,  into  the  night. 
Talk  about  your  city  picnics, 
On  old  Independence  Day, 
But  take  me  into  the  country 
For  to  hip,  hip  and  hoora ! 

July  4,  1914. 


THE  OLD  HICKORY  SWING 

Oh  the  old  hickry  swing!  of  a  hickry  saplin  made, 
That  hung  upon  a  limb  neath  the  spreadin  chestnut's 

shade 
At  the  dense  forest's  edge  whare  the  grass  was  green  and 

soft, 

There  in  glad  childhood  days,  we  barefooted  children  oft 
Would,  in  bright  summertime  swing  ourselves  to  and  fro ; 
From  the  top  of  the  hill  to  the  dell  down  below, 
Could  the  echo  be  heard  when  we  children  would  sing, 
As  we  swung  to  and  fro  on  the  old  hickry  swing. 

Ah,  how  vivid  the  scene  of  the  old  hickry  swing 
Comes  back  to  me  now,  how  fond  mem'rys  still  cling, 
Of  the  boys  and  the  girls  who  sped  through  the  wood 
To  the  soft  grassy  knoll  whare  the  old  chestnut  stood ; 


38  POEMS  FOR   ALL  CLASSES 

How  we  oftimes  would  race  to  see  who  would  beat 
And  be  first  one  to  mount  on  the  old  hickry  seat, 
How  the  children's  sweet  voices  of  yore  seem  to  ring, 
As  my  thoughts  wander  back  to  the  old  hickry  swing. 

Thare  the  forest  so  dense,  with  its  trees  looming  tall, 

In  the  breeze  gently  swaying  enraptured  us  all, 

Thare  the  gray  squirl  would  whisk  from  his  hole  in  the 

tree, 

His  life  seemed  so  happy,  so  blissful  and  free, 
And  the  chipmunk  would  glide  in  his  hole  in  the  ground 
As  soon  as  he  espied  we  children  comin  round, 
When  we  came  with  a  yell,  and  the   foremost  would 

spring, 
With  a  triumphant  lafF,  on  the  old  hickry  swing. 

When  the  ev'nin  would  come,  the  biggest  girls  and  boys 

Would  come  a  strollin  forth  with  their  lafter  and  noise; 

They  would  come  to  that  place  frum  a  dozen  nayburs 
round 

And  would  have  the  grandest  time  on  that  little  play- 
ground ; 

The  girls  would  mount  the  seat  and  the  boys  would  swing 
them  so 

As  they'd  touch  the  branch  above  when  they  swing  to  and 
fro, 

You  could  tell  by  the  way  they  would  laff  and  shout  and 
sing, 

They  was  havin  lots  of  fun  at  the  old  hickry  swing. 

Oh  the  old  hickry  swing!   it  has  gone  to  decay, 

And  we  boys  now  are  men,  some  have  wandered  far 

away; 
The  girls  now  are  wimmin,  some  have  married,  some 

still  wait, 


S 

o 

u- 
O 

£ 

H  »• 

(/)      o 

bfl* 


FARM  LIFE 


Hoping  they  may  see  the  day  when  they'll  yet  get  a  mate ; 
The  forest  is  cut  down,  and  the  old  chestnut  tree, 
Whare  I  wunst  used  to  swing,  I  ne'er  again  shall  see, 
Ah,  the  bitter  tears  will  roll  while  my  little  song  I  sing 
Of  the  pleasant  memories  of  the  old  hickry  swing. 


A  NEWLIN  HUCKLEBERRY  PARTY. 

Oh  huckleberry  time  had  come, 

And  we  wuz  glad  indeed, 
Fer  huckleberries,  don't  yer  know? 

They  make  sich  splendid  feed; 
Some  years  the  crop's  immensely  big 

And  folks  kin  fill  their  pails 
In  little  time  and  thin  agin, 

Some  years  the  crop  it  fails. 

My  wife  and  I,  as  you  may  know, 

Fer  many  years  hed  bin 
A  livin  in  the  city,  but 

We  now  hed  moved  agin 
Into  the  country,  we  hed  both 

Bin  brought  up  on  the  farm, 
We  moved  in  middle  of  July 

When  weather  it  wuz  warm. 

Some  one  hed  told  us  that  the  crop 

Of  huckleberries  would 
Thet  season  be  a  failure  sure, 

Thet  'twasn't  any  good ; 
In  no  place  on  the  mountains  near, 

Was  any  seen  to  grow, 
But  folks  kin  miss  their  guess,  I  vow, 

Thet  sometimes  think  they  know. 


40  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

A  friend  of  our'n  whispered  to  us, 

There  wuz  a  place  he  know'd, 
Up  on  the  little  mountain  top, 

Where  lots  of  berries  grow'd ; 
Bill  Rarig,  who  is  big  and  stout 

And  kind  to  ev'ry  one, 
He  volunteered  to  take  us  out 

To  hev  a  little  fun. 

So  Monday  mornin,  round  he  cum 

With  his  great  market  rig, 
He  hed  two  hosses,  both  wuz  gray 

And  they  wuz  strong  and  big; 
He  loaded  up  a  crowd  of  us, 

We  made  a  heavy  load, 
But  Bill's  two  grays,  they  easy  tuk 

Us  up  the  mountain  road. 

When  we  got  on  the  mountain  top, 

Bill  tied  his  hosses  to 
A  saplin,  then  we  tuk  our  pails 

And  soon  wuz  runnin  through 
The  bushes  and  one  time  I  fell 

Headlong  across  a  stump, 
And  cum  kerflop  down  on  the  ground, 

And  gave  my  hed  a  bump. 

Well,  very  soon  we  found  a  place 

Where  huckleberries,  whew! 
Wuz  hangin  thick  as  swarms  of  bees, 

Around  us  all  wuz  blue; 
One  of  the  girls  let  out  a  scream, 

Look  out  Bob,  there's  a  snake! 
Bob  looked  and  laffed  and  sed,  No  Sue, 

Thet  time  it  wuz  a  fake! 


FARM   LIFE  41 


She'd  seen  a  stick  as  black  as  coal, 

And  thought  it  wuz  a  snake, 
And  she  wuz  really  frightened  pale, 

Sam  said,  Next  time  you  take 
A  look  before  you  yell  and  scare 

A  feller  into  fits ; 
But  in  the  woods  you'll  find  that's  how 

A  young  Gurl  often  gits. 

Well,  we  all  fell  to  pickin  thin, 

We  gethered  quite  a  heap, 
We  tuk  about  two  bushels  home 

And  canned  them  so's  they'd  keep 
You  know,  all  through  the  winter  time. 

We  made  jam  out  of  some, 
I  et  some  fer  my  supper  and, 

I  tell  you  it  wuz  um-m-m! 

I  didn't  kill  no  snakes  at  all, 

But  nasty  nats  they  bit 
My  hans  and  face,  but  I  jist  kep 

But  little  count  of  it; 
I  tell  you  I  would  not  hev  missed 

Thet  trip  fer  a  gold  pin, 
And  if  next  season  I  am  here, 

I  sure  will  go  agin. 


THE  MOSQUITO  BAND. 

There  is  a  band,  a  concert  band, 
No  doubt  the  largest  in  the  land, 
Which  comes  around  at  close  of  day, 
There's  only  one  tune  they  can  play. 


42  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

They  are  determined  I  shall  hear, 
Because  they  come  close  to  my  ear, 
I've  heard  their  tune  so  oft  before 
That  it  has  now  become  a  bore. 

Yet  I  would  not  object  if  they 
Would  be  content  to  only  play, 
But  they  have  got  so  little  sense, 
They  always  dine  at  my  expense. 

And  always,  too,  before  they're  done, 
They  hurt  the  feelings  of  some  one; 
'Tis  usually  a  little  child, 
So  innocent  and  meek  and  mild. 

I'm  sorry,  but  most  ev'ry  night, 
Before  they  go,  we  have  a  fight, 
But  I  would  not  be  thus  inclined 
If  their  own  business  they  would  mind 

But  if  they  brutally  will  wage 
Their  cruel  war,  then  I,  in  rage, 
Like  Uncle  Sam,  will  rise  and  crush 
Their  bloody  carcasses  to  mush. 


THE  WHEAT. 

Behold  the  fields  of  golden  wheat, 
Which  grow  to  make  us  bread  so  sweet; 
How  beautiful,  how  rich,  how  grand 
The  golden  stalks  by  millions  stand 
Upon  the  fields  for  miles  and  miles, 
Each  waves  its  head,  looks  up  and  smiles 
Upon  the  man  who  tilled  the  land, 


FARM    LIFE  43 


They  are  the  children  of  his  hand. 
They  smile  on  him  and  seem  to  say, 
"We  stand  well  ripened  here  to  day, 
We're  ready  for  the  reapers  now, 
Then  for  the  shock,  and  then  the  mow; 
So  hasten,  lest  it  come  about 
We  grow  dead  ripe,  and  grains  drop  out 
Our  heads  and  fall  down  to  the  ground 
And  nevermore  by  man  be  found. 

O  precious  wheat,  oh  golden  wheat! 
Each  day  it  brings  to  us  a  treat ; 
The  staff  of  life,  our  daily  bread 
So  rich  and  bountifully  spread 
Upon  our  tables,  O  rich  food, 
So  sweet,  so  precious,  and  so  good  ; 
Now  let  us  on  our  Father  call 
And  thank  Him,  for  He  gave  it  all. 


IN  THE  HAY  FIELD. 

The   summer  sun   is   very   hot,   but  there's   a   pleasant 

breeze 

A  playing  with  the  branches  of  the  verdant  apple-trees; 
I  hear  the  mower  singing  in  the  meadow  down  below 
The  old  red  barn,  now  Farmer  Brown  says,  "Come  boys, 

we  will  go 
And  hitch  up  Maud  and  Bell  and  we  will  go  out  for  a 

load 
Of  hay,  for  that  ere  grass  is  dry  that  Joe  this  morning 

mowed, 
If  it  don't  rain  this  afternoon,  we'll  give  that  field  a 

sweep, 
If  we  can  haul  till  supper  time,  we'll  get  in  quite  a  heap." 


44  POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

The  wagon,  with  the  ladders  on,  is  backed  out  of  the 

shed, 
And  Maud  and  Bell  are  soon  hitched  up  by  me  and 

brother  Ned; 

Then  on  the  wagon  ladders  all  leap  with  agility, 
Our  faces  brown  as  chestnut  shells,  but  happy  hearts 

have  we; 
Down  on  the  road  we  see  some  folks,  in  autos,  speeding 

by, 

They're  dressed  up  in  their  Sunday  best,  but  happier 

am  I 
In  overalls  and  broad  brimmed  hat,  with  sweat  drops 

trickling  down 
My  forehead  over  cheek  and  chin  so  sunburnt  and  so 

brown. 

Down  through  the  lane  into  the  field,  we  take  a  joyful 
ride, 

All  seated  on  the  board,  our  feet  hang  dangling  o'er  the 
side; 

We  have  no  cushioned  seats  nor  has  our  wagon  any 
springs, 

But  sweetest  rapture  to  our  souls  that  jolting  wagon 
brings ; 

Don't  brag  to  me  about  your  bands  with  drums  and  clar- 
inets, 

'Twill  not  compare  with  music  which  the  farm  hand  dai- 
ly gets ; 

The  creaking  wagon  with  its  load,  the  robin  in  the  tree, 

And  Bob,  the  driver  on  the  load,  a  singing  merily. 

And  then,  beside  the  music  sweet,  it  is  such  splendid  fun 
To  see  a  rabbit,  from  the  grass,  leap  forth  and  swiftly 
run; 


FARM   LIFE  45 


And  we  have  much  excitement,  too,  for  now  and  then  we 

see 
A  copperhead  or  blacksnake  glide  out  from  the  hay  so 

free; 

I  often  wonder  why  folks  say,  *Td  rather  live  in  town 
Where  I  can  go  to  picture  shows  and  see  things  of  re- 
nown; 

Why,  we  who  live  out  on  the  farm,  most  any  day  can  see 
Nice  moving  pictures,  and  what's  more,  our  picture  show 
is  free. 


THE  FARMER'S  COMPANIONS. 

It  is  springtime,  and  the  blossoms 

Now  bedeck  the  apple  trees, 
While  the  sunshines  bright  and  pleasant, 

And  the  gentle  murm'ring  breeze 
Sways  the  slender  spreading  branches 

To  and  fro  so  gracefully, 
While  the  robin  in  the  treetop 

Sings  a  song  of  joy  and  glee. 

In  the  ground  a  narrow  burrow 

Has  been  dug  out  by  a  mole, 
In  an  old  dead  tree,  a  flicker 

Has  discovered  a  round  hole; 
There  she'll  bring  her  soft  material 

And  erect  a  cozy  nest 
Where,  ere  long,  some  litle  nestlings 

Will  be  lying  snug  at  rest. 


46  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 

In  the  barn  there  is  a  rustle 

Of  a  dozen  pairs  of  wings, 
There  the  swallows  now  are  busy, 

Each  one  to  the  building  brings 
Little  bits  of  mud,  each  morsel, 

To  the  rafters  way  up  high, 
Is  by  them  securely  fastened 

And  there  left  alone  to  dry. 

Soon  a  nest  will  be  completed, 

In  which  tiny  eggs  they'll  lay, 
And  where  young  birds  soon  will  chatter, 

By  and  by  they'll  fly  away, 
Then  about  the  barn  they'll  circle, 

Diving  through  the  balmy  air, 
Swarms  of  merry  little  swallows 

Can  be  happy  anywhere. 

Round  the  shed  I  hear  a  buzzing, 

There  the  wasp  is  busy,  too, 
Making  course  and  heavy  paper, 

What  does  he  intend  to  do? 
Make  a  nest,  of  course,  some  people 

Do  not  like  to  hear  him  bizz ; 
But  if  you  will  mind  your  business, 

He  will  strictly  'tend  to  his. 

In  a  hollow  log  a  rumbling 

Sound  I  hear,  look  in  and  see, 
No,  not  I !     I  know  the  music 

Played  by  Mr.  Bumblebee. 
Out  he  conies,  just  see  him  circle 

Round  about,  he  says,  "Boo,  boo!" 
Go  along,  old  cheating  hummer, 

I  will  not  make  friends  with  you. 


FARM   LIFE  47 


Yonder  runs  a  little  chipmunk, 

What  a  pretty  little  thing! 
Now  he  sits  upon  his  haunches, 

Chip's  the  song  that  he  can  sing; 
There's  a  hole  beneath  the  fencerail, 

Into  which  he  soon  will  glide, 
Tis  his  home,  I  wish  he'd  let  me 

Take  a  little  peep  inside. 

Hark,  I  hear  so  loud  a  chatter! 

'Tis  the  sassy  little  wren ; 
To  the  bird-house,  in  the  orchard ; 

He  has  come  back  once  again ; 
Welcome,  little  sassy  fellow, 

I'm  your  friend,  as  you  well  know, 
Glad  indeed  am  I  to  see  you, 

Even  though  you  jaw  me  so ! 

Yonder  goes  a  toad  a  hopping, 

Now  he  sits  and  winks  his  eyes ; 
See  his  curly  tongue  protruding, 

He's  the  one  to  catch  the  flies, 
Hear  that  music  from  the  meadow, 

From  the  stagnant,  marshy  bogs, 
"Kerplunk,  kerplink!"  'tis  the  singing 

Of  the  merry  little  frogs. 

Happy  is  the  honest  farmer, 

He  has  music  all  the  day; 
While  he  works  out  in  his  garden 

While  he  hauls  the  new  mown  hay, 
There  are  singers  all  about  him 

Singing  birds  and  buzzing  bees, 
Ev'rywhere  he  hears  sweet  music 

Floating  on  the  gentle  breeze. 


48  POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

When  he  rises  in  the  morning, 

He  can  hear  the  robin's  song, 
Then  the  others  join  the  chorus, 

He  has  music  all  day  long; 
When  the  sun  has  set,  and  darkness 

Comes,  and  songs  of  birds  all  cease, 
Forth  there  comes  the  merry  cricket 

Singing  songs  that  all  will  please. 

Farming  is  indeed  a  pleasure, 

Though  the  work  is  hard,  'tis  true, 
There  are  many  friends  to  cheer  you 

As  you  toil  the  whole  day  through ; 
'Tis  a  life  indeed  worth  living, 

Though  the  days  be  very  warm, 
And  in  heat  I  all  day  swelter, 

I  prefer  it  on  the  farm. 


A  TEN-YEAR-OLD  BOY'S  SONG  OF  JUNE. 

Old  June  is  here,  with  balmy  air, 
The  sun  is  bright,  the  day  is  fair, 
I  snatch  my  rod  and  line,  and  go 
Down  to  the  mill-race  just  below, 
Where  I  cast  in  my  earthworm  bait, 
Then  on  the  bank  I  sit  and  wait 
For  some  sly  sucker,  chub  or  trout 
To  bite,  and  then  I'll  pull  him  out 

That  balmy  breeze,  how  good  it  feels, 
As  softly  through  my  hair  it  steals, 
I  sit  and  watch  the  stalks  of  wheat 
All  waving  forth  so  tall  and  sweet; 


FARM   LIFE  49 


I  feel  a  jerk  upon  my  line, 
"Ha,  ha,  old  fellow,  you  are  mine!" 
I  swing  my  rod,  my  line  pulls  out 
And  I  now  land  a  speckled  trout. 

I  place  him  on  a  stout  cord  string, 
Then  in  again  my  hook  I  fling, 
And  then  I  sit  and  watch  a  thrush 
Gracefully  hopping  on  a  brush, 
And  now  I  feel  another  jerk, 
Then  I  again  resume  my  work. 
I  give  my  rod  a  sudden  swish 
And  land  a  monstrous  big  cat-fish. 

'Tis  thus  I  pass  a  pleasant  day, 

Such  work  to  me  is  only  play; 

I  love  to  sit  there  all  day  long 

And  listen  to  the  merry  song 

The  water  sings  as  it  flows  by, 

And  watch  the  white  clouds  in  the  sky ; 

When  I  can  sit  all  day  and  fish, 

I  gratify  my  fondest  wish. 


THE  OLD  WAY  AND  THE  NEW. 

When  we  were  boys,  in  early  May, 
We  dropped  the  corn  in  rows; 
Our  fathers  followed  after  us, 
With  steady  strokes  of  hoes. 
They  covered  it,  it  took  some  time 
To  plant  ten  acres  then; 
Sometimes  in  one  field  could  be  seen 
A  half  a  dozen  men. 
4 


50  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 

And  when  the  wheatfields  ripened  stood 

Ready  for  harvest,  we 

Went  forth  with  cradles  and  hand  rakes, 

We  usually  had  three 

Stout  men,  who  with  their  cradles  lay 

In  swaths  the  yellow  wheat, 

While  six,  with  hand  rakes,  bound  it  up 

In  sheaves  both  trim  and  neat. 

When  threshing  day  came  round,  we'd  hear 

A  clattering,  rumbling  sound, 

And  in  the  barnyard  we  beheld 

Eight  horses  walking  round; 

A  man,  upon  a  small  platform, 

From  morn  till  eve  would  stand, 

Who  lashed  the  horses  with  a  whip 

Which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Tis  diff'rent  now,  the  farmer  plants 

His  corn  with  a  machine, 

And  in  the  field,  large  crowds  of  men 

No  longer  can  be  seen; 

For  one  man  now  will  plant  more  corn 

In  one  day  than  we  then, 

With  half  a  dozen  men  and  boys, 

Could  plant  in  eight  or  ten. 

And  in  the  wheatfields  we  now  see 

The  binder  going  round ; 

It  cuts,  it  binds,  it  gathers  sheaves 

In  neat  piles  on  the  ground ; 

And  in  large  tracts  of  land  out  West, 

It  threshes  out  the  grain, 

And  after  it  has  made  its  rounds, 

The  well  filled  bags  remain. 


FARM   LIFE  51 


Yes,  truly  things  have  greatly  changed 

Throughout  this  great  broad  land, 

Machines  now  do  the  work  which  once 

Was  chiefly  done  by  hand; 

But  who  would  stay  the  cunning  hand 

That  makes  machines,  no  one, 

No,  rather  with  one  voice  commend 

The  work  so  nobly  done. 


THE  SLY  GRAY  SQUIRREL. 

October  had  come,  the  hunters  were  out 
With  dogs  and  guns,  the  squirrels  to  rout, 
O'er  hill  and  dale  the  guns  were  heard  pop, 
And  many  a  frisky  squirrel  would  drop. 

A  cunning  gray  squirrel,  the  hunters  have  spied, 
He  hies  himself  into  the  tall  oak  to  hide, 
And  from  his  peep  hole,  with  shining  sharp  eye, 
He  watches  the  hunters  and  dogs  passing  by. 

And  when  he  feels  all  is  safe  once  again, 
He  ventures  forth  from  his  snug  little  den, 
Now  down  the  bare  trunk  he  goes  with  a  bound, 
Then  with  a  long  leap  lands  safe  on  the  ground. 

Now  on  his  haunches  he  squats,  with  his  tail 
Standing  erect  like  a  boat's  hoisted  sail 
In  a  few  seconds  he  has  looked  on  all  sides, 
Then,  like  a  flash,  o'er  the  loose  leaves  he  glides. 

Now  a  small  thicket  appears  in  his  way, 
But  to  glide  through  it,  to  him  is  but  play ; 
Soon  at  the  opposite  side  he  appears, 
Watching  on  all  sides,  with  wide  open  ears. 


52  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 


Now  he  has  come  to  a  low  marshy  bog, 
O'er  which  he  crosses  upon  an  old  log; 
From  where  he  now  is  he  plainly  can  see 
The  tall  weather  beaten  old  butternut  tree. 

Only  a  few  leaps  more  brings  him  there, 
Now  for  a  butternut,  which  he  will  bear 
Back  to  his  snug  little  nest  in  the  tree 
Where  his  good  wife  sits  and  waits  anxiously. 

He  has  seized  one,  now  see  how  he  goes, 
The  way  to  his  den  he  very  well  knows ; 
Over  the  marshes,  up  the  steep  hill, 
At  a  full  gallop  he  speeds  with  a  will. 

Hark,  there's  a  hunter,  bang,  goes  his  gun! 
But  Mr.  Squirrel  continues  to  run; 
Over  his  head  the  load  of  shot  hissed, 
Lucky  for  you  Mr.  Squirrel,  that  he  missed. 

But  slack  not  your  pace,  the  danger's  not  past, 
A  dog's  on  your  track,  O  run  very  fast, 
Your  tree  is  not  more  than  ten  yards  away, 
So  keep  up  your  pace,  you'll  yet  win  the  day. 

On  sped  the  squirrel  and  on  came  the  dog, 
Leaping  o'er  bushes,  stone-pile  and  log; 
It  was  a  tight  race,  but  the  squirrel  has  won 
And  the  dog  has  been  cheated  out  of  his  fun. 

Now  seated  once  more  in  his  snug  little  den 
He  vows  he  will  not  venture  out  soon  again ; 
He  has  a  large  store  of  nuts  which  will  last 
Until  the  cold  winter  months  will  have  past. 


FARM   LIFE  53 


And  so  he  sat  there,  through  a  hole  he  looked  out 
And  watched  the  snow-birds  all  hopping  about, 
And  tho  other  squirrels  the  hunter's  bags  filled, 
That  cunning  gray  squirrel  has  never  been  killed. 

-60-  W   S& 

AN  OLD  SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  STUDENT 
MEET  AFTER  THIRTY  YEARS. 

The  Thomas  School  Is  located  one  mile  west  of  Greensburg,  West 
moreland  County,  Pennsylvania.   The  teacher  referred  to  In  this  poem  is 
Edward  J.  Small,  Pittsburg,  Pa.,  an  attorney  by  profession,  who  taught 
the  Thomas  School  In  winter  of  1877-8.    The  author  was  a  ten  year  old 
pupil  at  that  time,  in  the  same  school. 

(TEACHER) 

"Full  thirty  years  have  passed  and  gone 
Since  we  once  met  together,  John, 
When  I  taught  you  at  Thomas  School 
Which  stood  beside  a  rushy  pool 
Of  water,  clear,  serene  and  calm, 
Where  tadpoles  by  the  hundreds  swam ; 
'Twas  close  beside  a  shady  grove, 
Where  with  the  bat  and  ball  we  strove; 
Where  pretty  girls  with  laughter  sang 
Until  the  woods  with  rapture  rang; 
Oft  do  I  sit  and  ponder  o'er 
Those  happy  times  in  days  of  yore ; 
You  say  you  still  are  living  there 
Then  tell  me  how  the  people  fare; 
How  is  old  Mr.  Wise  and  wife, 
That  fat  old  man  so  full  of  life, 
And  Mr.  Smeltzer,  Poole  and  all? 
I'm  coming  out  some  day  to  call 
On  all  of  them,  you'll  go  with  me 


54  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 

And  once  again  old  friends  I'll  see; 

I'll  be  the  happiest  of  men, 

To  greet  those  good  old  friends  again." 

(STUDENT) 

"Alas,  the  tears  come  to  my  eyes ! 
Those  many  friends,  which  tender  ties 
Bound  to  us,  all  from  earth  have  fled, 
Old  Mr.  Wise  and  wife  are  dead ; 
Of  all  the  old  folks,  none  remain, 
It  fills  my  heart  with  grief  and  pain 
To  tell  you  this,  but  if  you  go 
To  visit  them,  you'll  find  it  so ; 
Some  of  the  homes  remain  the  same, 
But  people  of  a  different  name 
Will  greet  you  at  each  cottage  door, 
Your  good  old  friends  are  there  no  more." 

(TEACHER) 

"Sad  news,  indeed,  is  this  to  me, 

O,  is  it  true,   it  cannot  be 

That  all  now  in  the  graveyard  sleep? 

It  breaks  my  heart,  I  mourn  and  weep 

But  if  I  go  back,  I  can  still 

Behold  the  school-house  on  the  hill, 

The  old  box  desks  and  benches  see, 

That  will  bring  joy  and  cheer  to  me." 

(STUDENT) 

"Ah  no,  dear  friend,  the  old  house  too 
Has  been  torn  down,  and  now  a  new 
One  with  two  rooms  stands  on  the  site 
And  other  young  lads,  with  delight, 


FARM    LIFE  55 


Are  playing  where  we  once  did  play, 
When  we  were  happy  all  the  day; 
If  you  should  now  behold  the  place 
Of  that  old  house  you'll  find  no  trace." 

(TEACHER) 

"The  old  house  then  I  shall  not  see, 
But  still  there'll  be  one  joy  to  me, 
I'll  see  the  beautiful  oak  grove, 
And  neath  its  boughs  again  I'll  rove, 
And  kneeling  on  the  brook's  green  brink, 
Of  its  sweet  waters  I  shall  drink, 
And  that  alone  I  know  will  Be 
Sweet  happiness  and  bliss  to  me." 

(STUDENT) 

"O  how  I  wish  it  might  be  so, 
And  that  I  too  again  might  go 
And  drink  of  that  cool  brook  and  rove 
Once  more  in  that  refreshing  grove; 
The  woodman's  cruel  ax  has  cleft 
Those  stately  trees,  not  one  is  left, 
There  once  the  green  grove  stood,  but  now 
The  farmer  works  it  with  the  plow, 
When  coal  was  taken  out  below, 
The  cool  brook,  too,  then  had  to  go. 
The  grove,  the  brook  have  passed  away, 
You  will  not  find  them  there  today." 

(TEACHER) 

"Gone,  all  gone,  are  those  scenes,  away, 
But  still  to  that  place  I  will  go  some  day, 
A  basket  of  flowers  with  me  I'll  take 
To  the  old  graveyard,  and  for  the  sake 


56  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 

Of  the  memory  of  those  friends  I  knew, 
Upon  the  grave  of  each  I'll  strew 
The  flowers,  for  I'm  sure  I'll  find 
The  graves  of  those  who  were  so  kind 
To  me  when  I  a  youth  first  came 
Among  them,  blesed  be  the  name 
Of  ev'ry  one,  some  day  I'll  greet 
Them  all  around  the  mercy  seat." 


WAR  POEMS  57 


O  DOVE  OF  PEACE,  WHERE  HAST  THOU 
FLOWN? 

For  centutries  the  war  clouds  hung 

O'er  nations  in  the  whole  wide  world ; 
Defiant  battle  songs  were  sung, 

And  implements  of  war  were  hurled 
At  one  another,  friend  turned  foe, 

The  sword  and  shield  flashed  in  the  sun, 
Each  conflict  brought  forth  grief  and  woe, 

As  gallant  men  fell  one  by  one. 

But  by  and  by  there  came  a  day 

When  wise  men  said,  "Let  us  have  peace ! 
We'll  lay  our  swords  and  guns  away, 

And  war-ship  building  we  will  cease ; 
We  will  not  tax  the  people  more, 

Our  mighty  armies,  we'll  disband 
And  days  of  bloodshed  will  be  o'er, 

And  peace  shall  reign  in  ev'ry  land. 

Thus  great  men  spake,  the  gentle  dove 

Of  peace  was  hov'ring  ev'rywhere, 
While  to  the  Prince  of  Peace  and  Love, 

Ascended  many  an  earnest  prayer 
That  nations  ne'er  again  might  war, 

That  bloody  conflicts  all  might  cease; 
In  ev'ry  land,  both  near  and  far, 

Men  prayed,  "Descend  O  dove  of  peace.1 


58  POEMS   FOR  ALL    CLASSES 

It  was  a  dream,  men  soon  awoke 

To  find  the  dove  of  peace  had  flown, 
And  nations  had  with  fury  broke 

Forth  into  war,  the  world  was  thrown 
Into  excitement,  cannons  boomed, 

The  earth  shook  with  a  quake  again, 
And  many  families  were  doomed 

To  sacrifice  their  gallant  men. 

O  dove  of  peace,  where  hast  thou  flown  ? 

O  come  and  visit  us  again ; 
May  ev'ry  sigh  and  cry  and  moan 

Ring  in  the  hearts  of  those  vile  men 
Who,  all  for  selfishness,  made  war, 

And  may  they  crush  their  hearts  of  stone, 
And  all  their  peace  and  pleasure  mar 

Until  they  for  their  wrongs  atone. 

Fiends,  autocrats,  do  you  not  hear 

The  widow's  moan,  the  orphan's  cry? 
Are  your  hearts  stone,  do  you  not  fear 

The  wrath  of  God  who  dwells  on  high? 
O  hear  the  cry  of  Uncle  Sam 

Who  pleads  with  you,  O  heed  his  voice, 
Dispel  the  storm,  the  war  waves  calm, 

And  let  the  world  again  rejoice! 

Aug.  19,  1914. 


WAR  POEMS  59 


A  PARTING  BLESSING  TO  OUR  SOLDIER  BOYS. 

Brave  soldier  boys,  you're  starting  out 

Upon  a  mission  grand, 
You  leave  your  homes,  your  firesides, 

And  your  own  native  land ; 
For  love  of  liberty  you  go, 

To  hurl  the  tyrant  down, 
Who  sits  upon  his  lofty  throne 
And  wears  a  despot's  crown. 

You  soon,  on  board  our  transports,  will 

Cross  o'er  the  sea's  expanse, 
And  will,  ere  long,  join  with  the  boys 

Of  brave  and  fearless  France. 
Then  o'er  the  vineclad  hills  you'll  march 

To  meet  the  despot  foe, 
To  conquer  him  and  for  all  time 

His  power  overthrow. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  will  o'er  you  wave, 

Proud  emblem  of  the  free, 
And  underneath  its  folds  you'll  march 

To  bring  sweet  liberty 
To  poor  oppressed  humanity 

The  Kaiser  has  held  down 
For  many  years  and  made  them  swea; 

Allegiance  to  the  crown. 

William,  the  Tyrant,  on  his  throne, 

Is  King  of  Babylon, 
In  one  short  hour,  all  his  wealth 

And  glory  will  be  gone ; 


60  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

E'en  now  the  mighty  angel  drops 

The  stone  into  the  sea, 
Thus  shall  the  world  soon  see  fulfilled 

That  ancient  prophecy. 

Thus,  with  a  great  and  mighty  fall, 

Shall  Germany  go  down, 
Thus,  with  one  blow,  the  Kaiser  shall 

Forever  lose  his  crown; 
You  are  that  stone,  brave  boys,  ne'er  fear, 

God's  angel  e'er  will  guide 
You  through  the  fiercest  battle's  din, 

Fod  God  is  on  our  side. 

The  battle  may  be  long  and  fierce, 

Your  blood  may  freely  flow, 
But  children,  of  a  land  like  ours, 

Defeat  must  never  know; 
Our  glorious  banner,  floating  high, 

Proud  emblem  of  the  free, 
Is  foreordained  to  bring  to  all 

Sweet  peace  and  liberty. 

Go  forth  then,  boys,  courageously, 

March  onward  to  the  fray, 
Fight  as  your  sires  fought  before, 

And  you  will  win  the  day; 
Store  in  your  hearts  brave  Warren's  words, 

"The  God  of  battles  trust," 
He  will  be  in  the  midst  of  you, 

He  knows  our  cause  is  just. 


WAR  POEMS  61 


Farewell,  then  boys,  we'll  daily  pray 

The  strife  may  not  be  long, 
And  that  you  soon  may  homeward  sail, 

Singing  the  victor's  song; 
May  heaven's  blessing  go  with  you, 

God's  angel  hosts  attend 
You  all  the  way,  and  gently  guide 

You  safely  to  the  end. 

June  23,  1917. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY,  1917. 

'Tis  Christmas  Day,  that  day  of  days, 
When  we  our  songs  of  grateful  praise 
Sing  to  our  Savior,  who  was  born 
In  Bethlehem,  that  Christmas  morn 
When  angels  came  down  to  the  earth 
To  tell  the  shepherds  of  His  birth; 
That  angel  choir  from  the  sky 
Sang,  "Glory  be  to  God  most  high!" 

But  Christmas,  nineteen  seventeen, 
Brings  not  to  us  that  joyful  scene, 
But  scenes  of  carnage,  death  and  blood, 
In  France  there  flows  the  crimson  flood, 
On  Belgium's  once  peaceful  shore, 
The  ground  is  dyed  with  human  gore, 
In  Italy,  men  grapple  fierce, 
And  strive  each  other's  hearts  to  pierce. 

The  heartless  Kaiser,  on  his  throne, 
Appears  as  if  he'd  never  known 
The  story  of  the  Prince  of  peace, 
He  vows  the  war  shall  never  cease 


62  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

'Till  he  can  have  all  things  his  way, 
Ah,  'tis  indeed  a  solemn  day, 
This  Christmas,  nineteen  seventeen, 
For  sorrow  ev'rywhere  is  seen. 

How  can  we  sing  with  joy  this  day, 
When  our  dear  boys  are  far  away 
From  home  and  friends  and  native  land, 
No  mother's  kind  and  loving  hand 
To  clasp  their  own,  no  joy  or  bliss 
Occasioned  by  the  mother's  kiss? 
Bereft  of  home's  parental  care, 
Are  our  brave  boys  encamped  o'er  there. 

We  sit  down  to  our  Christmas  meal, 

Sad  feelings  over  us  must  steal; 

Each  one  in  his  accustomed  chair, 

But  ah,  one  place  is  vacant  there! 

The  father  takes  the  carving  knife, 

'Tis  his  most  trying  time  in  life, 

While  carving,  he  lets  fall  a  tear, 

And  sighs,  "O  that  our  James  were  here!" 

The  food  is  passed  in  silence  round, 
In  ev'ry  heart  is  grief  profound, 
Ah,  'tis  a  sad  sad  Christmas  day ! 
How  can  we  sing,  what  can  we  say  r 
The  whole  world  is  o'ercast  with  gloom 
It  trembles  with  the  cannon's  boom, 
Dark  clouds  of  smoke  the  sun  obscure, 
How  long  must  we  this  grief  endure? 

O  heart,  now  faint,  do  not  despond, 
There  shines  a  radiant  light  beyond 
The  cloud  that  now  appears  so  dark; 


WAR  POEMS  63 


Now  see,  'tis  cleft  in  twain,  and  hark! 

Again  the  angels,  from  the  sky, 

Sing,  "Glory  be  to  God  most  high!" 

Ere  long  this  cruel  war  wil  cease, 

For  Christ  still  reigns,  the  Prince  of  peace. 

Then,  have  we  still  not  cause  to  sing 
Our  praises  to  our  Lord  and  King? 
Yes,  we  can  praise  Him  for  His  care 
And  guidance  to  our  boys  o'er  there 
Praise  Him  becasue  His  blessed  Word 
In  ev'ry  army  post  is  heard, 
Praise  Him  who  soon  will  come  again 
To  bring  sweet  peace  and  joy  to  men. 

Dec.  25,  1917. 


THE  KAISER'S  SENTENCE 

Stand  up,  Kaiser  William, 

Your  power  is  past, 

You've  murdered  and  tortured, 

But  justice  at  last 

Has  laid  its  firm  fingers 

Securely  on  you, 

So  list  to  your  sentence 

That's  justly  your  due. 

The  people  have  cursed  you, 
And  many  have  said, 
Don't  waste  time  in  trial, 
Just  off  with  his  head; 
But  justice  decided 
That  such  punishment 


64  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Would  be  too  mild  for  you, 

So  you  will  be  sent 

Not  forth  to  the  scaffold, 

But  into  exile, 

Far,  far  from  your  kindred, 

Where  time  you  can  wile 

Away  very  slowly, 

Alone  you  will  grieve 

O'er  crimes  you've  committed, 

There'll  be  no  reprieve; 

For  death  you'll  be  longing, 

Pale  visions  will  rise 

Of  poor  murdered  children, 

Their  pitiful  cries 

Will  torment  you  daily, 

Hell's  flames  will  flare  up 

And  scorch  your  vile  being, 

You'll  drink  from  the  cup 

That's  filled  to  o'erflowing, 

More  bitter  than  gall, 

You'll  wake  ev'ry  morning, 

Not  rested  at  all ; 

For  years  you'll  be  tortured 

With  fear  and  regret 

But  your  cup  of  sorrow 

Will  not  be  full  yet ; 

You'll  grow  thin  and  wretched, 

And  as  you  thus  wane, 

You'll  give  a  fierce  struggle, 

Then  raving,  insane. 

Death's  strong  hand  will  grasp  you, 

Unhonored,  unmourned, 

You'll  die,  but  your  casket 


WAR  POEMS  65 


Will  not  be  adorned 
With  sweet  scented  flowers, 
The  world  will  rejoice, 
The  song  will  be  echoed 
With  one  heart  and  voice, 
"Praise  God  in  the  highest, 
Whose  kind  hand  today 
Has  swept  the  last  barrier 
Of  freedom  away. 

March  21,  1918. 


A  YOUNG  SOLDIER'S  WIFE'S  SONG  TO 
HER  BABE. 

As  the  early  dews  were  falling, 
Sweet  and  clear  arose  the  sound 
Of  the  sparkling  meadow  brooklet, 
As  it  sped  with  leap  and  bound 
Over  rocks  and  sandy  places, 
Onward,  with  unceasing  flow, 
Soon  to  join  the  silent  river 
Which  meandered  just  below. 

While  the  bat  was  gayly  flitting 
In  the  twilight,  all  about, 
While  the  bright  stars  in  the  heavens,, 
Each  in  turn  were  coming  out, 
While  the  cricket  chirped  serenely, 
While  the  vesper  songs  were  heard, 
In  the  forest,  dense  and  gloomy, 
Of  the  happy  singing  bird, 


66  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Lucy  sat  on  the  veranda, 
With  her  baby  fondly  pressed 
To  her  bosom,  softly  singing, 
As  in  words  her  thoughts  expressed, 
''Father's  gone  across  the  ocean, 
Gone  to  be  a  soldier  true, 
Gone  to  do  his  sacred  duty. 
God  will  care  for  me  and  you." 

"A  great  gulf  is  fixed  between  us, 

He  is  many  miles  away, 

Though  he's  absent,  yet,  in  spirit, 

He  is  with  us  ev'ry  day ; 

We  are  lonely  here  without  him, 

He  no  doubt  is  lonely,  too, 

But  our  own  dear  country  needs  him, 

God  will  care  for  me  and  you!" 

"Father  never  yet  has  seen  you, 
Darling  child,  for  on  the  day 
You  arrived,  our  home  to  brighten, 
He  was  many  miles  away; 
Now  the  ocean  rolls  between  us, 
Father's  standing,  brave  and  true, 
At  his  post,  we  will  not  murmur, 
God  will  care  for  me  and  you!* 

So  she  pressed  her  babe  more  closely 
To  her  bosom,  while  a  tear 
Fell  upon  her  darling's  forehead, 
Yet,  with  faith  allaying  fear, 
Gazing  on  her  babe  so  fondly, 
With  a  mother's  love  so  true, 
Sang  so  softly,  as  he  slumbered, 
"God  will  care  for  me  and  you !" 


WAR  POEMS  67 


Softly,  on  the  balmy  breezes, 
Came  sweet  music  to  her  ear, 
From  the  angel  hosts  of  heaven, 
Bringing  to  her  soul  sweet  cheer ; 
Guardian  angels  gently  whispered, 
"You're  a  Christian,  brave  and  true 
God  will  care  for  you  and  baby, 
And  will  care  for  father,  too!" 

March  23,  1918. 


YANKEE  DOODLE  WITH  MODERN 
IMPROVEMENTS. 

Our  Yankee  Boys  have  gone  to  France, 

Across  the  briny  ocean, 
Already  they  have  chased  the  Hun, 

And  caused  a  great  commotion. 

(CHORUS) 
Then  "Yankee  Doodle,"  shout  the  song, 

And  make  the  declaration, 
Our  Yankee  Boys,  sweet  liberty, 

Will  bring  to  ev'ry  nation. 

Already  they  have  crossed  the  line, 

And  Germany  invaded, 
And  with  true  Yankee  bravery, 

Into  the  Huns  have  waded. 

They  soon  will  turn  the  tide  of  war, 

And  set  the  Huns  a  running, 
For  none  can  stand  before  the  Yanks, 

They  are  so  shrewd  and  cunning. 


68  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

And  Kaiser  Bill  and  all  his  hosts, 
Will  soon  with  fear  be  quaking, 

For  soon  our  Yankee  Boys  will  give 
Old  Germany  a  shaking. 

On  to  Berlin  they'll  make  their  way, 

And  bring  to  desolation, 
The  palace  of  old  Kaiser  Bill, 

And  cause  great  consternation. 

They'll  hurl  that  despot  from  his  throne, 
With  him  no  words  they'll  bandy, 

They'll  march  him  to  the  lively  tune 
Of  "Yankee  Doodle  Dandy." 

Then  all  the  world  will  shout  for  joy, 
And  will  our  boys  be  greeting, 

Then  home  they'll  come  triumphantly, 
There'll  be  a  happy  meeting. 

June  21,  1918. 


THE  TRIAL  AND  EXECUTION  OF 
EDITH  CAVELL. 

She  had  no  trial,  for  the  fiends 
Assembled  had  decreed  her  fate; 
She  was  from  England,  'twas  enough, 
Those  German  beasts,  impelled  by  hate 
For  England,  laid  aside  all  law 
And  justice,  they,  like  fiercest  swine, 
Which  rend  their  helpless  victim's  flesh, 
Or  cunning  spiders  which  entwine 


WAR   POEMS  69 


The  helpless  insects  with  their  webs, 
Those  German  beasts  refused  to  try 
Her  lawfully,  her  only  crime 
Was,  "She  is  English,  and  must  die." 

The  so-called  courts  were  guided  by 
No  principle  at  all,  they  gave 
Themselves  up  to  their  lust  for  blood; 
'Twas  mockery,  none  cared  to  save 
That  one  who  had  so  tenderly 
Nursed  back  to  life  the  wounded  men ; 
No  rights  had  she  before  that  bar, 
They  knew  no  right  nor  justice  when 
The  one  accused,  from  England  came. 
Before  them  to  be  tried,  their  cry 
Was  everlastingly  the  same, 
"She's  English,  and  therefore  must  die!" 

And  so  they  hastened  to  conclude 
Their  hellish  work,  in  dead  of  night 
Their  cruel  bullets  pierced  her  heart, 
The  Kaiser's  beasts  put  out  that  light 
Which  shown  upon  the  suffering  ones 
Who  lay,  each  one  upon  his  cot ; 
While  time  shall  last,  this  crime  of  crimes, 
Apologies  can  never  blot 
Out  from  the  memory  of  all 
Who  stand  for  justice,  law  and  right, 
From  heaven  above,  the  countless  stars 
Shown  pitifully  down  that  night. 

Soon  as  the  cruel  act  was  known, 
The  world,  in  protest,  raised  its  cry, 
A  wrathful  God  above  looked  down, 
And  there  was  judgement  in  His  eye. 


70  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Time  will  pass  by,  this  war  will  end 
Those  German  beasts  will  be  brought  low, 
And  Sauberzweig,  the  merciless, 
Will  suffer  great  remoise  and  woe, 
But  Edith  Cavell  will  live  on, 
Her  monument,  in  course  of  time, 
Should  have  inscribed  thereon  these  words, 
"She  was  English,  her  only  crime." 

Oct.  10,  1918. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  MOTHER. 

One  son  has  crossed  the  sea, 
Is  on  the  firing  line, 
Another  is  in  camp, 
They  both  are  faring  fine ; 
So  says  the  last  account 
That  anxious  mother  heard, 
But  three  weeks  have  passed  by 
Since  she  received  that  word. 

Since  then  fierce  battles  raged 
Beyond  the  broad  deep  sea, 
And  ev'ry  time,  our  men 
Have  won  the  victory; 
But  many  of  our  boys, 
Who  helped  the  foe  to  stem, 
Fell  dead  upon  the  field, 
Was  her  boy  one  of  them? 

That  is  the  question  which 
Weighs  heavy  on  the  soul 
Of  that  fond  mother  while 
The  battle  takes  its  toll 


WAR  POEMS  71 


Of  soldiers  from  our  ranks, 
Ah,  truly,  mothers  bear 
Far  more  than  do  their  boys 
In  trenches  over  there! 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


HOW  TOM  BROWN  VIEWS  THE  WAR. 

Tom  Brown,  one  bright  September  morn, 
Gazed  on  his  field  of  standing  corn; 
His  sons  had  both  gone  off  to  war, 
Throughout  the  land,  both  near  and  far, 
It  was  the  same  thing  ev'rywhere, 
Each  home  was  called  upon  to  spare 
Their  best  to  send  across  the  sea 
To  fight  for  world  wide  liberty. 

Tom  gazed  around,  and  heaved  a  sigh, 
Then  wiped  a  fresh  tear  from  his  eye ; 
"My  boys  both  from  their  parents  torn, 
They  planted  that  big  field  of  corn 
Last  Spring,  but  they're  not  here  today 
To  help  me  store  the  crop  away ; 
Frank  is  at  Newport,  and,  dear  me, 
James  has  already  crossed  the  sea !" 

"That  corn  crop  should  be  gathered  now, 

I  can't  get  help,  but  yet,  somehow, 

I  feel  that  I'll  accomplish  it, 

If  Ma  and  Ruth  can  help  a  bit; 

At  any  rate,  I'll  make  a  start, 

I'm  willing,  yes,  to  do  my  part 

To  put  that  murderous  Kaiser  down, 

Sure,  they  can  count  on  old  Tom  Brown !" 


72  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

''Both  of  my  sons  I  freely  give, 

But  O,  I  hope  they  both  will  live 

And  come  back  home  to  Ma  and  me, 

We'll  hope  and  pray,  perhaps  'twill  be 

Our  happy  lot,  but  some  must  die 

On  battle  fields,  and  left  to  lie 

In  graves  unmarked,  not  all  the  men 

WhoVe  gone,  will  come  back  home  again !" 

"Yes,"  'War  is  hell/  as  Sherman  said, 
I  wish,  sometimes,  that  I  were  dead ; 
But  Ma,  she  smiles  and  says,  'O  no, 
That  would  be  cowardly!    we'll  go 
On  through  the  fray,  we'll  work  and  buy 
More  bonds  and  stamps,  both  you  and  I 
Must  keep  up  courage,  and  provide 
The  food  that's  needed  on  our  side.'" 

"And  then  I  laugh  myself,  and  say 
To  her,  'You're  right,  it  will  not  pay 
For  us  at  home  e'er  to  retreat, 
For  if  we  do,  we're  surely  beat!' 
And  so,  with  vigor,  I  sail  in 
And  say,  'Get  up  there,  Doll  and  Jin, 
For  we  must  get  this  big  job  done, 
And  help  to  lick  the  murderous  Hun !" 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


WAR  POEMS  73 


WE'LL  PAY  OUR  DEBT  TO  LAFAYETTE. 

Recited  at  the  celebration  of  Lafayette's  Birthday  at  Bremen,  Ohio, 
September  7th,  1918. 

When  Paul  Revere  at  midnight  rode 
On  his  swift  steed  to  Lexington, 
And  shouted,  as  he  rode  along, 
"To  arms,  the  struggle  has  begun!" 
Our  patriotic  fathers  rose, 
And  with  great  valor,  forces  hurled 
Against  the  foe,  their  shots  that  day 
Were  heard  around  the  entire  world. 

Then  hurried  forth  the  minute  men 
From  ev'ry  fair  New  England  farm, 
One  aim  had  they,  to  rout  the  foe 
Who  came  to  do  their  country  harm; 
Beneath  the  Cambridge  elm  tree's  shade, 
George  Washington,  on  steed  of  white, 
Assumed  command  of  those  brave  men, 
To  battle  for  their  homes  and  right. 

That  army,  but  few  thousand  men, 

For  years  held  back  their  cruel  foe, 

From  lack  of  food,  from  winter's  cold, 

They  suffered  misery  and  woe; 

Those  were  the  days  which  tried  men's  souls, 

For  many  quaked  with  dread  and  fear, 

But  still,  in  hope,  they  struggled  on, 

They  knew  not  that  strong  help  was  near. 

Two  years  passed  by,  the  month  of  June, 
Bedecked  with  scented  roses  came, 
And  with  it,  from  the  shores  of  France, 
A  brave  and  gallant  youth,  whose  name 


74  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Today  is  everywhere  revered 

In  this  free  land,  'twas  then  there  met, 

And  joined  their  hearts  for  freedom's  cause, 

George  Washington  and  Lafayette. 

Brave  Lafayette,  a  friend  in  need, 
Gave  us  himself,  his  wealth,  his  all, 
More  than  a  century  passed  by, 
And  then  there  came  an  urgent  call 
From  France  for  help,  and  recently, 
Brave  Pershing,  whom  we  all  revere, 
Placed  flowers  on  his  tomb,  and  said, 
"Friend  Lafayette,  behold  we're  here!" 

" We've  come  to  pay  the  debt  we  owe, 
Not  many  thousand  were  we  when 
You  came  to  help  defeat  our  foe, 
We  bring  you  now  a  million  men 
To  down  the  Kaiser  and  his  host, 
A  million,  we'll  not  stop  with  one, 
But  ten,  if  need  be,  we  will  bring, 
In  gratitude  for  what  you've  done." 

"So,  rest  in  peace,  brave  Lafayette, 

We'll  thrash  your  foe,  and  thrash  him  well, 

Already,  on  the  horde  of  Huns, 

The  Yankee's  work  begins  to  tell ; 

We'll  put  the  accursed  Prussian  down, 

All  that  is  due  him  he  will  get, 

And  when  he's  conquered,  we  can  say, 

We've  paid  our  debt  to  Lafayette!" 

Sept.  7,  1918. 


WAR  POEMS  75 


THE  KAISER'S  DOOM. 

The  Kaiser  thot 

He'd  laid  a  plot 

Whereby  he'd  got 

A  firm  hold  on  the  world ; 

He'll  change  his  mind, 

Only  to  find 

That  he  was  blind, 

And  soon  now  will  be  hurled 

From  off  his  throne, 

That  he  alone 

Must  soon  atone 

For  his  enormous  crime; 

He  must  come  down, 

And  lose  his  crown 

And  past  renown, 

Both  now  and  for  all  time. 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


LITTLE  MAN'S  COMPLAINT. 

My  father  had  to  go  from  home, 
Across  the  broad  and  stormy  sea. 
To  help  the  struggling  people  there 
To  gain  their  precious  liberty; 
He  had  to  leave  me  and  mamma, 
He  went  with  other  soldier  men, 
'Tis  three  months  since  he  went  away, 
And  he  may  ne'er  come  home  again. 

Why  did  my  father  have  to  go 
Away  from  home,  and  leave  us  all? 
He  went  because  he  felt  he  ought, 


76  POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

He  answered  to  our  country's  call; 
Why  did  our  country  need  to  call 
Him  from  his  home  and  little  Nan? 
My  mother  tells  me  that  it  was 
The  fault  of  one  bad  cruel  man. 

And  he  who  sinned  that  dreadful  sin, 
Was  that  vile  beast  in  old  Berlin. 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


PRAYER  FOR  OUR  SICK  SOLDIERS. 

O  Father,  look  down  from  Thy  throne, 
Send  forth  Thy  glory  from  above 
Into  our  soldier  camps  below, 
Upon  our  boys  whom  Thou  dost  love; 
For  thousands  now  are  lying  sick, 
Come  now,  Lord  Jesus,  lay  Thy  hand 
Upon  the  sick  and  dying  there, 
Bring  joy  throughout  our  native  land. 

O  Jesus,  see  the  broken  hearts 
Of  fathers,  mothers,  hear  their  cry; 
O  heal  their  sons,  far,  far  away, 
O  do  not  suffer  them  to  die  ; 
Lord  Jesus,  hear  the  earnest  prayers 
That  daily  are  poured  out  to  Thee, 
Send  forth  Thine  angel  to  our  camps, 
Remove  this  dreadful  malady. 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


WAR  POEMS  77 


HOW  CAN  WE  PRAY  FOR  THE  KAISER? 

O  Lord,  Thou  didst  command  that  we 
Should  bless,  not  curse  our  enemy ; 
How  can  we  call  on  Thee  to  bless 
One  steeped  in  such  vile  wickedness 
As  he  who  planned  this  cruel  war, 
And  spread  destruction  near  and  far? 
Vengeance,  dear  Lord,  belongs  to  Thee, 
Open  his  eyes  that  he  may  see 
The  error  of  his  foolish  way; 
Lord,  this  is  all  that  we  can  pray, 
We  want  to  do  just  what  is  right, 
May  we  find  favor  in  Thy  sight. 

Oct.  18,  1918. 


HOW  ABOUT  DAD? 

The  poets  of  today  all  sing, 
And  make  the  very  welkin  ring 
With  songs  about  our  Kakhi  Boys, 
Of  their  misfortunes  and  their  joys, 
About  their  sweethearts  left  behind, 
About. their  mothers  good  and  kind; 
To  me  indeed  it  seems  too  bad 
That  no  one  lauds  the  soldier's  dad. 
While  mother  knits  and  worries,  too, 
What  does  the  dear  old  daddy  do? 
He  does  a  heap,  and  does  it  well, 
Give  heed,  and  I  his  deeds  will  tell; 
Throughout  the  long  and  anxious  days, 
The  grocer  and  meat  man  he  pays, 
He  sees  to  buying  garden  seeds, 


78  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Comes  home  in  time  to  pull  the  weeds; 

He  stays  at  home  when  mother  goes 

To  Red  Cross  work,  and  well  she  knows 

That  Dad  hands  out  the  cash  to  pay 

The  Red  Cross  and  Y.  M.  C.  A., 

The  S.  A.  and  the  K.  of  C, 

And  all  the  calls  for  charity; 

I  would  that  all,  in  this  free  land, 

Might  also  fully  understand 

That  he's  the  father  of  two  sons 

The  mother  sent  to  lick  the  Huns, 

And  cherishes  fond  memory 

Of  those  two  boys  beyond  the  sea, 

Amid  the  daylight  and  the  glim, 

Fond  mem'ries  often  come  to  him 

Of  childish  freaks  when  they  were  small, 

And  oftentimes  he  will  recall 

Proud  mem'ries  of  their  young  manhood, 

And  sighs  and  says,  "Ah,  if  I  could 

Press  to  my  bosom  once  again 

Those  boys,  now  brave  and  gallant  men !" 

Ah  yes,  kind  friends,  Dad  has  a  heart, 

'Twas  painful,  too,  for  him  to  part 

With  Frank  and  James,  upon  that  day 

The  ship,  which  bore  them,  sailed  away. 

Give  to  the  mother  all  that's  due, 

But  have  some  thought  for  daddy,  too! 


WAR  POEMS  79 


THE  THRILLING  MESSAGE. 

Written  November  llth,  1918,  upon  hearing  the  news  that  the  Ger- 
mans had  signed  the  armistice.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
the  author  recited  these  lines  to  a  monstrous  crowd  assembled  to 
celebrate  the  occasion. 

On  the  eleventh  of  November, 

While  the  people  lay  asleep, 

To  our  shores  was  brought  the  message, 

O'er  the  broad  and  briny  deep, 

That  the  foe,  who  had  against  us 

Been  so  bitterly  maligned, 

Had  the  Allies'  terms  accepted, 

And  the  armistice  had  signed. 

Then  the  people  were  awakened 

By  the  clanging  of  the  bell 

And  the  thrilling  blast  of  whistle, 

Pealing  forth  to  gladly  tell 

Ev'rywhere  the  news,  so  thrilling, 

Of  the  glorious  victory, 

How  the  cause  of  right  had  triumphed, 

And  had  set  the  captives  free. 

Multitudes  of  people  listened, 
Under  cover  of  the  night, 
To  the  reading  of  the  message, 
Hearts  o'erflowing  with  delight. 
Then  gave  vent  to  demonstrations 
Of  that  joy  which  no  one  knows 
But  he  who  for  justice  battles, 
And  then  triumphs  o'er  his  foes. 


80  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

The  long  weary  war  is  over, 
And  "Old  Glory,"  once  again, 
Still  unstained,  is  floating  over 
Millions  of  heroic  men ; 
We  have  kept  our  sacred  promise, 
That  our  banner  was  unfurled, 
Not  for  selfishness,  but  only 
To  bring  freedom  to  the  world. 

On  the  battle-fields  have  fallen, 
Thousands  of  our  gallant  men, 
Many  boys,  who  crossed  the  ocean, 
Never  will  come  home  again; 
Underneath  French  sod  they're  sleeping, 
Many  miles  across  the  main, 
But  we  thank  the  Allwise  Father 
That  they  have  not  died  in  vain. 

Nov.  11,  1918. 


NATURE'S  BEAUTIES  81 


A   S^eaufieA. 


SONG  OF  THE  SNOWFLAKES. 

From  clouds  o'erhead  we  gently  fall, 
To  bring  to  earth  a  cover, 
On  meadows,  hills  and  trees  and  roofs, 
We  spread  white  blankets  over. 

At  ev'ning,  first  a  few  upon 
Our  downward  journey  started, 
But  ere  midnight,  ten  million  more 
Had  from  the  clouds  departed. 

Throughout  the  night,  till  morning  dawn, 
Upon  the  air  we  floated, 
And  when  the  dawn  of  day  appeared, 
O'er  ev'rything  we  gloated. 

Then  up  arose  the  fierce  north  wind, 
And  with  a  cruel  laughter, 
It  blew  us  from  our  resting  place, 
And  many  miles  chased  after. 

O'er  hills  and  fields  it  carried  us, 
Then  tossed  us  in  a  hollow, 
Where  we  held  fast  and  many  more 
Upon  our  track  did  follow. 

Along  there  came  a  rumbling  train 

And  swiftly  plunged  into  us, 

It  whistled,  puffed,  but  soon  found  out 

It  never  could  plow  through  us. 

6 


82  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

Next  morning  dawned  quite  warm  and  clear, 
We  saw  Old  Sol  look  cunning, 
As  if  he  meant  to  say  to  us, 
I  soon  will  set  you  running. 

He  then  began  to  shed  his  heat, 
Then  we  all  took  to  crying, 
He  melted  us  to  tears  so  fast, 
Like  lard  in  caldrons  frying. 

Before  the  day  was  done  each  flake 
Had  melted  and  departed, 
To  our  surprise  we  found  that  we 
Were  back  to  where  we  started. 


A  STREET  SCENE  IN  WINTER. 

Out  in  the  broad  and  snow  covered  street, 

I  hear  the  noise  of  swift  little  feet, 

There  they  are  moving  swiftly  about, 

The  atmosphere  is  rent  with  a  shout 

Of  the  merry,  happy  little  schoolboys, 

For  the  greatest  of  all  the  Winter's  joys 

For  them  is  the  pleasure  that  can  be  found 

When  the  beautiful  snow  lies  thick  on  the  ground. 

Laughing,  shouting,  and  chatting  with  glee, 
Sleds  of  different  kinds  we  can  see; 
Little  James  lying  flat  on  his  chest, 
Seems  to  go  faster  than  all  of  the  rest ; 


83 


There  goes  a  heavily  loaded  bobsled, 
Guided  by  jolly  and  reckless  young  Ned, 
Down,  down  the  long  and  steep  hill  they  go, 
Over  the  fleecy  and  well  trodden  snow. 

Hip,  hip,  hurrah  Ned !   here  come  the  girls 
With  radiant  faces  and  flying  curls ; 
Now  they  have  mingled  with  the  schoolboys, 
Did  ever  you  hear  such  a  chattering  noise  ? 
Now  the  bobsled  goes  over  a  knoll, 
O  it  turns  over,  see  the  boys  roll ! 
No  one  is  injured,  just  see  them  lay 
There  in  the  snow  all  laughing  away. 

Now  they  have  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
Now  they  see,  coming  up  from  the  mill, 
Old  Farmer  Thompson  in  his  two  horse  sled, 
Here's  luck  for  us,  boys!  shouted  young  Ned; 
On  Farmer  Thompson's  sled  they  all  pile, 
The  old  man's  face  lights  up  with  a  smile, 
He  kindly  allows  the  whole  mob  to  ride 
Upon  his  large  sled  up  the  steep  hillside. 

The  summit  now  reached,  they  merrily  jump 
From  off  the  sled  to  the  ground  with  a  thump, 
And,  swiftly  as  ever,  over  the  snow, 
Down,  down  again  the  steep  hill  they  go ; 
So  they  continue  throughout  the  whole  day, 
Laughing  and  screaming,  all  happy  and  gay; 
God  bless  them  all,  may  their  lives  happy  be 
And  from  earth's  misfortunes  be  happy  and  free. 


84  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

THE  ALLEGHENY  MOUNTAINS. 

The  bright  Alleghenies,  so  lofty  and  grand, 
Reflecting  the  sunlight,  in  glory  doth  stand, 
The  great  rocks  o'erhanging  the  gorges  below 
Where  bright  sparkling  streams  of  pure  water  flow. 

The  forests  so  dense  and  looming  so  tall, 
Of  all  the  grand  sights,  is  grandest  of  all, 
There  blossoms  in  springtime  bring  to  our  glad  eyes 
A  scene  like  a  vision  of  sweet  Paradise. 

The  Connamaugh  River  flows  swiftly  along 
And  sings  such  a  sweet  melodious  song; 
Its  graceful  sharp  curves  bring  joy  to  the  eye 
Of  many  gay  tourists  who  daily  ride  by. 

The  Blue  Juniata  meanders  through  wilds, 
So  clear  and  so  peaceful,  a  whole  hundred  miles, 
Its  waters  'gainst  rocks  and  steep  banks  are  tossed 
Until  in  the  broad  Susquehanna  they're  lost. 

Upon  the  west  side,  within  a  ravine, 
The  city  of  Johnstown  in  glory  is  seen, 
Which  in  eighty-nine,  one  dark  summer  day, 
Was  suddenly  swept  by  fierce  torrents  away. 

In  winter,  the  snowbanks,  which  glisten  so  bright, 
Present  to  the  trav'ler  a  beautiful  sight, 
And  icicle  ornaments  on  the  green  trees, 
Create  a  rich  scene,  never  failing  to  please. 

It  is  a  rare  pleasure,  when  laden  with  care, 
To  take  a  vacation,  and  seek  refuge  there, 
And  breathe  the  pure  air,  be  happy  and  gay, 
At  least  for  a  season,  your  cares  flee  away. 


NATURE'S  BEAUTIES  85 


WHEN  THE  BLUEBIRDS  NORTHWARD  FLY. 

When  the  blizzard's  hum  is  past, 
And  the  tempest's  cruel  blast, 
Thru  the  night,  is  heard  no  more, 
When  the  zero  days  are  o'er, 
When  the  buds  begin  to  swell 
On  the  trees  o'er  hill  and  dell, 
When  the  bluebirds  northward  fly, 
'Tis  a  sign  that  Spring  is  nigh. 

How  it  pleases  girls  and  boys 
When  they  hear  the  twitt'ring  noise 
Of  those  harbingers  of  spring, 
What  a  joy  to  hear  them  sing. 
On  the  air  the  music  floats, 
Thru  the  window  come  their  notes, 
From  the  clear  and  balmy  sky, 
When  the  bluebirds  northward  fly. 

After  many  cloudy  days, 
We  behold  the  sun's  bright  rays 
Beaming  on  us  once  again, 
Bringing  sweetest  cheer,  and  then 
We  are  filled  with  joy  and  glee 
By  the  thrilling  song,  "Chee,  chee !" 
Which  assures  us  Spring  is  nigh, 
When  the  bluebirds  northward  fly. 


86  POEMS   FOR  ALL   CLASSES 


TO  THE  MARCH  WIND. 

Blow  March  Wind,  with  your  whistle  and  roar, 
Your  blustering  days  will  soon  be  o'er ; 
Blow  your  loud  blasts  throughout  the  long  night, 
Cover  the  ground  with  blankets  of  white. 

Rattle  the  windows  and  slam  the  door, 
Soon  we  will  hear  you  whistle  no  more; 
For  Old  Sol  now  is  mounting  the  sky, 
Spring  birds  are  coming  and  April  is  nigh. 

Pile  the  white  snowdrifts  high  if  you  will, 
Over  each  doorstep  and  on  window  sill ; 
Bite  the  tips  of  our  fingers  to  day, 
Doubtless,  tomorrow  you'll  vanish  away. 

When  the  South  Wind  blows  gently,  you'll  hie 
Away  to  the  North,  we'll  bid  you  goodbye, 
And  for  eight  months,  or  probably  more, 
We'll  not  feel  your  breath  or  hear  your  loud  roar. 

We  do  not  hate  you,  old  March  Wind,  O  no ! 
We  like  you  in  Winter,  but  now  you  should  go, 
Farewell,  and  when  the  warm  season  is  o'er, 
We'll  welcome  again  your  whistle  and  roar. 


NATURE'S  BEAUTIES  87 


A  FREE  MOVING  PICTURE  SHOW. 

People  go  o'er  roughest  roads, 
Thru  the  deepest  muck  and  mud, 
In  their  autos,  loads  and  loads, 
All  the  way  it's  bump  and  thud ; 
Ten  or  twelve  miles  they  will  go 
To  some  distant  bust'ling  town, 
Just  to  see  a  little  show, 
Tho  the  rain  comes  pouring  down. 

Tho  the  night  be  dark  as  pitch, 
Tho  the  wind  blow  cold  and  strong, 
Tho  they  skid  from  ditch  to  ditch, 
As  their  autos  jog  along; 
They  will  go  at  anyrate, 
Just  to  see  some  comic  show, 
Getting  home  so  very  late, 
As  we  parents  all  well  know. 

Foolish  people,  I  can  hear, 
While  I'm  lounging  in  my  seat, 
Music,  which  comes  to  my  ear, 
Both  melodious  and  sweet; 
'Tis  the  wind,  which  sings  to  me 
Songs  that  Spring  is  coming  sure, 
While  from  mud  and  cold  I'm  free, 
Which  the  others  must  endure. 

And  when  out  in  open  air, 
I  look  upward  to  the  sky, 
I  behold  a  picture  there, 
Fleecy  clouds  go  flitting  by 


88  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

O'er  the  golden  moon  so  bright, 
Ah,  that  moving  picture  show 
That  I  see  there  after  night, 
None  can  equal  it  I  know! 

I  can  stand  and  gaze  and  gaze 
At  the  universe  so  vast, 
All  the  grandest  op'ra  plays, 
Or  the  scenes  on  canvass  cast, 
Cannot  in  the  least  compare 
With  the  grandure  I  behold, 
And  the  glories  pictured  there 
In  rich  colors  of  pure  gold. 


EVENING. 

Behind  the  distant  hill,  the  sun 

Is  nestling  for  the  night, 
Another  day  is  almost  done, 

He  sheds  his  brilliant  light 
Against  the  hov'ring  clouds  above, 

How  beautiful  to  see; 
Emblems  of  God's  unending  love 

Shed  o'er  the  earth  so  free. 

I  feel  the  cool  refreshing  breeze, 

The  zephyrs  gently  sway 
The  verdant  branches  of  the  trees, 

The  sun  now  sinks  away 
Behind  the  hill,  completely  hid, 

The  gentle  twilight  comes, 
I  hear  the  clicking  katydid, 

The  bee  now  softly  hums. 


89 


Up  from  the  frog-pond  comes  a  croak, 

The  old  owl  cries,  "Who,  who?" 
From  his  headquarters  in  the  oak, 

The  cow  responds,  "Moo-oo!" 
While  from  the  hedge,  just  o'er  the  way, 

The  cry  comes,  "Whip-poor-will!'* 
While  tiny  bull-frogs  seem  to  say, 

You  noisy  freaks,  be  still. 

The  brilliant  stars,  like  spots-  of  gold, 

Are  coming  out  on  high, 
At  first  but  few,  then  manifold, 

They're  dotted  o'er  the  sky. 
How  wonderful  was  that  great  plan 

God's  wisdom  did  employ 
To  make  these  glorious  things  that  man 

Might  all  their  fruits  enjoy. 


THE  LOVELY  SUNRISE. 

When  night  has  vanished  quite  away, 
And  gloomy  spectres  all  have  fled, 

Aurora  ushers  in  the  day, 

And  Old  Sol  lifts  his  shining  head. 

Wherever  you  may  chance  to  be, 
The  heart  is  filled  with  fond'  delight 

Whene'er  the  sun's  bright  rays  you  see, 
At  morning's  dawn,  so  pure  and  bright. 


90  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

If  on  the  ocean,  lost  from  view 

Of  home  and  friends  and  native  land, 

There  comes  at  dawn  of  day  to  you, 
A  picture  beautiful  and  grand. 

The  sun  appears  to  come  from  out 
The  water,  like  a  ball  of  gold, 

He  spreads  his  glory  all  about, 
And  causes  pleasures  manifold. 

Or  if  on  mountain's  craggy  peaks, 
You  chance  to  stand  at  break  of  day, 

And  see  the  sun's  bright  golden  streaks 
Upon  the  mountains  fondly  play, 

Reflecting  on  the  sparkling  spring 
Of  crystal  water,  clear  and  pure, 

That  glorious  scene  to  you  will  seem 
Like  the  celestial  world,  I'm  sure. 

And  if  soft  fleecy  clouds  should  chance, 
At  sunrise,  to  be  floating  o'er 

The  sun's  bright  face,  it  does  enhance 
The  grandure  of  the  scene  much  more. 

Unto  the  fleecy  clouds  it  gives 
A  halo  which  brings  to  the  mind 

Thots  of  that  home  beyond,  where  lives 
The  loving  Savior  of  mankind. 


NATURE'S  BEAUTIES  91 

FLOWERS  OF  SPRING. 

Many  bards  have  sung  of  Spring, 
Of  grasses  green  and  shady  bowers; 

But  to  my  mind,  the  lovliest  thing 
Of  this  glad  season  is  the  flowers. 

The  golden  dandelions  peep 

Out  early,  ere  the  grass  be  growing, 

And  crocuses  so  slyly  creep, 

Resembling  faces  brightly  glowing. 

The  buttercups  and  daisies,  too, 

Up  through  the  grass  come  springing, 

And  violets,  of  lovely  blue, 

Joy  to  our  hearts, — come  bringing. 

Spring  season  brings  us  many  things 

Which  tend  our  hearts  to  lighten; 
'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  bird  that  sings. 

But  how  the  flowers  brighten! 

They  clothe  the  lawn,  bedeck  the  room, 

They  make  our  pleasures  double; 
They  drive  away  despair  and  gloom, 

And  we  forget  our  trouble. 

The  patient  lying  sick  in  bed, 

The  Doctor's  verdict  fearing, 
Beholds  the  flowers,  lifts  her  head, 

And  smiles  so  sweet  and  cheering. 

Ah,  wonderful  indeed  are  these, 

The  beautiful  spring  flowers, 
Which,  day  by  day,  ne'er  cease  to  please, 

Thank  God,  such  pleasure's  ours. 


92  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

THE  BLACKBIRDS. 

Spring  has  come,  and  with  it,  too, 
Blackbirds,  beautiful  and  grand, 

With  their  coats  of  shiny  hue, 
Have  returned  to  grace  our  land. 

Proudly  perched  upon  a  rail, 
A  sleek  fellow,  whom  we  see, 

Lifts  his  wings  and  bobs  his  tail, 
And  sings  merrily,  "Bo  hee!" 

Flocks  and  flocks  of  them  appear 
Scattered  o'er  the  meadows  green ; 

To  our  hearts  they  bring  glad  cheer, 
And  present  a  graceful  scene. 

Welcome  birds,  we  freely  give 

Our  green  fields  and  trees  to  you; 

Take  possession,  happy  live, 
We  give  only  what  is  due. 

You  are  guardians  of  our  trees, 
For,  without  you,  none  would  bear 

Precious  fruit  our  hearts  to  please, 
Therefore,  freely  take  your  share. 

Go,  sweet  birds,  and  build  your  nests, 
Choose  locations  anywhere, 

And  with  your  fond  nestlings  rest, 
We  will  promise  you  our  care. 

Build  your  nest,  you  need  not  fear, 
For  to  you  will  come  no  harm 

While  you  make  your  dwelling  here 
On  our  quiet  peaceful  farm. 


93 


WHEN  THE  FLOWERS  SHOW  THEIR  FACES. 

Mr.  Riley,  the  great  poet,  may  just  write  his  lines  and  talk 
'Bout  the  frost  upon  the  punpkin  or  the  fodder  in  the 

shock; 

He  may  talk  about  the  guineas  or  the  cacklin  of  the  hens, 
Or  the  goblin  of  the  turkey,  or  some  other  odds  and  ends ; 
Other  men  may  sit  and  shiver  when  the  frosty  autumn 

conies, 
And  may  say  the  weather's  bracin  when  the  equinoctal 

hums, 

But  there  isn't  any  season  half  so  lovely  as  the  spring, 
When  the  flowers  show  their  faces  and  the  birds  begin 

to  sing. 

It  is  very  great  enjoyment  when  the  little  tots  are  seen 
Romping  o'er  the  great  wide  meadows,  on  the  grass  so 

fresh  and  green, 
While  they  pluck  the  early  flowers  which  they  find  among 

the  grass, 
How  their  faces  beam  with  pleasure  as  those  lovely  days 

they  pass ; 
Then  just  see  the  little  lamkins  as  they  race  and  skip  and 

play, 

Seems  as  if  they,  too,  were  happy  ev'ry  hour  of  the  day ; 
See  the  plowman  turn  the  furrows,  there  is  no  time  sweet 

as  spring, 
When  the  flowers  show  their  faces  and  the  birds  begin  to 

sing. 

Then  the  plantin  of  the  taters  and  the  corn  and  oats  and 

all, 
Talk  about  your  frost  and  pumpkin  and  your  shiv'ring  in 

the  fall, 


94  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

See  the  beautiful  sweet  scented  blossoms  on  the  cherry- 
trees, 

On  the  apple  and  the  peach-tree,  you  would  not  compare 
with  these, 

The  yellow  leaves  of  autumn  or  the  golden  ears  of  corn, 

Or  the  frost  upon  the  pumpkin  on  a  cold  October  morn ; 

Let  them  sing  about  their  pumpkins,  I  will  choose  for 
mine  the  Spring, 

When  the  flowers  show  their  faces  and  the  birds  begin  to 
sing. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  95 


IpoemA. 


WHY  HE  CAME  TO  THE  PARSON. 

I  came  ter  see  yer,  Parson,  I'm  sorry  I  hed  ter  cum, 
I'm  sorry  ter  hev  ter  tell  yer,  but  things  haint  right  ter 

hum; 

Sarah  an  me's  been  fightin  now  f  er  more  than  a  week ; 
Fer  two  days  she's  been  sulky  an  nary  a  word  will  speak. 
I  haint  ter  blame,  I'm  sartin,  she  kicked  up  the  hull  muss, 
If  she  hed  been  like  me  sir,  there  wouldn't  hev  been  no 

fuss; 

I  giv  her  no  occashun  f  er  kickin  up  a  row, 
But  she  has  gone  an  done  it,  an  thet's  why  I'm  here  now. 

I  thought  I'd  better  tell  yer,  I  thought  mebbe  you  might 
Cum  down  to  nite  and  see  her  and  clear  things  up  all 

right; 

What's  that  ?  Yes,  I've  pervided  all  things  we  need  to  eat, 
An  furnished  lots  uv  clothing  to  dress  her  well  and  neat. 
Where  do  I  spend  my  ev'nins  ?  Well,  I  stay  at  the  store 
Most  ev'ry  nite  a  talkin  till  ten  o'clock  an  more  ; 
No,  she  has  no  one  with  her,  she  stays  alone  all  day, 
Uv  course,  I  haint  ter  blame  sir,  my  work  keeps  me  away. 

Oh  yes,  uv  course  I  could  sir  stay  hum  ter  nights,  but  still 
I  like  ter  meet  my  naybors  who  live  up  on  the  hill, 
Who  ev'ry  nite  all  gether  together  at  the  store, 
It  does  a  feller  good  sir,  to  talk  his  old  times  o'er. 


96  POEMS  FOR  ALL   CLASSES 

No,  Mrs.  don't  go  out  sir,  thet  is,  not  very  much, 
An  with  her  nearest  naybors  don't  often  come  in  touch, 
She  haint  gone  on  a  visit,  I  don't  b'lieve  wunst  last  year, 
You  say  she  must  be  lonely,  well,  thet  is  true  I  fear. 

What,  I  haint  done  my  duty  ?  You  think  so,  Parson,  well, 
Mebbe  I  haint,  but  sartin,  just  where  I  cannot  tell; 
You  say  my  duty's  more  than  pervidin  things  ter  eat, 
Well  now,  I  never  thought  so,  I'll  own  yer  hev  me  beat ; 
Yer  say  I  orter  stay,  sir,  ter  hum  with  her  at  nite, 
Yer  stay  ter  hum  with  your  wife?  well  now,  mebbe  you're 

right 

Mebbe  my  wife  has  reasons  fer  causin  this  here  stir, 
I  think  I'll  go  at  wunst,  sir,  an  make  my  peace  with  her. 

I  thank  yer  kindly,  Parson,  fer  what  you  did  advise, 
I  see  my  duty  clear  now,  you've  opened  my  blind  eyes ; 
I  see  how  she's  been  toilin  fer  years  both  day  an  nite, 
While  I've  bin  out  a  loafin,  I  see  I  haint  done  right ; 
But  I  ter  nite  will  change  sir,  the  hull  uv  things  an  stay 
Ter  hum  an  be  her  comfort  instead  uv  gone  away, 
An  if  oftimes  I've  broken  my  vows  in  days  of  yore, 
I'll  promise  her  from  this  time  I'll  break  my  vows  no 
more. 


HOUSE  CLEANING. 

The  winter's  past,  the  spring  has  come, 
About  our  house  there  is  a  hum, 
The  carpets  they  are  all  torn  up, 
The  cupboards  cleared  of  dish  and  cup. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  97 


My  wife  is  busy  ev'rywhere, 
She  scrubs  each  floor  and  sill  and  chair ; 
And  she  keeps  me  quite  busy,  too, 
Ah,  these  are  days  when  men  feel  blue ! 

For  many  days  she  calls  on  me 
For  help  and  I  respond  you  see, 
Not  in  the  best  of  spirits  though, 
No  use  to  kick,  it  must  be  so. 

Take  out  those  carpets  there,  says  she, 
And  beat  each  one  most  thoroughly ; 
And  so  I  place  them  on  the  line 
And  then  I  seize  that  club  of  mine. 

Then,  with  a  sigh  and  heavy  thrust, 
I  pound  their  sides,  and  oh  the  dust, 
It  flies  at  me  like  bitter  foes 
And  fills  my  ears  and  eyes  and  nose ! 

And  after  many  a  furious  stroke 
I've  wielded  and  my  back  feels  broke, 
I  think  I  now  some  rest  will  get, 
My  wife,  she  smiles  and  says,  Not  yet! 

Go  now  and  tack  those  carpets  down, 
And  I  obey,  although  a  frown 
No  doubt  you'll  see  upon  my  face, 
As  I  drive  each  tack  into  place. 

And  thus  it  goes  a  week  or  more, 
Oh,  this  house  cleaning  is  a  bore; 
I  envy  Indians,  who,  in  tents, 
Are  never  bored  by  such  events 

7 


98  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

THE  FOOLER  FOOLED. 

You  ask  me,  what's  the  matter,  what  makes  me  worry  so? 
Well,  just  sit  down  a  moment  and  hear  my  tale  of  woe; 
I've  lost  my  faithful  lover,  just  through  a  little  joke 
I  cracked  the  first  of  April,  and  now  my  heart  is  broke. 

Fred  Smith  has  been  my  fellow  for  four  years  now,  you 

see, 

I  know  'twas  his  intention  to  some  day  marry  me ; 
Well,  on  the  first  of  April,  we  went  out  for  a  ride, 
Fred  whispered  to  me  softly,  Dear  Annie,  be  my  bride? 

Well,  being  full  of  mischief,  I  answered  shortly,  No! 
Because  'twas  first  of  April,  I  meant  to  fool,  you  know ; 
But  Fred  was  fairly  flustered,  he  turned  his  horse  about 
And  drove  him  swiftly  homeward,  then  told  me  to  step 
out. 

Said  I,  are  you  offended  ?  'tis  April  first,  you  know, 
I  only  meant  to  fool  you,  I  did  not  mean  it  so  ; 
Indeed,  I'm  more  than  willing  to  marry  you,  so  then, 
I'll  answer  yes  directly  if  you'll  ask  me  again. 

But  Fred  in  anger  answered,  It  was  no  time  to  fool, 
I  ne'er  again  will  ask  you,  for  I  have  made  a  rule, 
Never  to  ask  a  woman  but  once  to  marry  me, 
Your  chance  is  gone  for  ever,  from  henceforth  I  am  free. 

Oh  Fred,  I  shrieked,  I  love  you  more  than  all  else  beside, 
I  cannot  live  without  you,  oh  let  me  be  your  bride ! 
It  cannot  be,  he  answered,  for  I  vowed  long  ago, 
I'd  ne'er  twice  ask  a  woman  who  once  would  tell  me  no. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  99 


He  drove  away  and  left  me,  this  is  my  tale  of  woe, 
Now,  do  you  greatly  wonder  why  I  am  worried  so  ? 
I'd  give  a  world,  if  need  be,  to  have  my  chance  again. 
How  very  strange,  you  never  know  how  to  catch  some 
men. 

Young  girl,  whene'er  your  fellow  asks  you  to  be  his  own, 
Don't  go  to  April  fooling,  let  good  enough  alone, 
When  your  beau  pops  the  question,  say  yes,  don't  hesitate, 
Or  you  may  see  your  blunder  like  I  did  when  too  late. 


MY  NEIGHBOR'S  PLIGHT. 

0  Mr.  neighbor,  hear  my  tale 
Of  misery  and  woe! 

1  am  so  well  nigh  crazy,  sir, 
I  don't  know  where  to  go ; 

I  b'lieve  I  am  a  nervous  wreck, 

I'm  weary,  sir,  of  life, 
Tis  all  because  I'm  living  with 

A  crabbed,  scolding  wife. 

She  works  from  morning  until  night, 

She  keeps  things  neat  and  clean, 
But  her  glib  tongue,  it  never  stops, 

She's  always  cross  and  mean ; 
And  such  a  nasty  temper,  whew! 

If  I  but  say  a  word, 
She  flies  off  and  such  rude  abuse 

I'm  sure  I  never  heard. 


100  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Say  neighbor,  did  you  ever,  when 

Out  working  on  your  farm, 
Stir  up  a  hornet's  nest?  you  did? 

You  know  things  get  quite  warm 
About  that  time,  and  you  feel  then 

Like  taking  to  your  heels; 
Well,  that  is  just  the  way  a  man 

In  my  position  feels. 

One  day  I  told  my  wife,  said  I, 

If  I  had  let  my  tongue 
And  temper  loose  like  you  have  done, 

I'd  long  ago  been  hung ; 
And  did  I  stir  a  hornet's  nest? 

Well,  I  should  say  I  did, 
And  in  hot  haste  I  took  myself 

Out  to  the  barn  and  hid. 
What's  that  you  say,  get  a  divorce? 

Oh  no,  indeed,  not  I. 
We're  married  forty  years,  I'll  stay 

With  her  until  I  die, 
Or  till  she  dies,  one  of  the  two, 

For  better  or  for  worse 
I  married  her,  and  I'll  remain 

Till  I  ride  in  a  hearse. 
I  might  reform  her,  did  you  say? 

Of  that  I  have  my  doubt, 
The  Devil's  in  her  heart  so  big, 

There's  none  can  drive  him  out; 
I  ne'er  expect  to  find  sweet  peace 

Until  I  go  away 
From  this  dark  world  of  gloom  and  woe, 

I'm  longing  for  that  day. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  101 


A  DUTCHMAN'S  EULOGY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Sheorge  Vashington  vas  a  goot  poy, 

He  told  yust  vat  vas  so ; 
He  vas  not  like  some  poys  totay, 

Vat  say,  Veil  I  tont  know! 

Ven  Sheorge  shopped  town  dat  sherry  tree 

Und  his  dad  got  a  stick, 
Und  Sheorge  vas  so  afraid  dat  him 

His  dad  vas  gone  to  lick, 

Sheorge  yust  sot  town  to  tink  avile, 

Said  he,  Vat  will  I  do? 
De  truth  vill  me  von  licken  cotch, 

A  lie  vill  cotch  me  two. 

Und  ven  his  dad  asked  who  it  vas 

Dat  shopped  town  his  nice  tree, 
Sheorge  said,  mit  big  tears  in  his  eyes, 

Boo-hoo  dad,  dat  vas  me ! 

Ya,  Sheorge  vas  very  goot  to  tell 

His  dad  vat  yust  vas  right, 
He  vas  much  petter  as  my  Hans, 

He  vas,  by  a  great  site. 

Ven  my  Hans  does  a  trick  like  dat, 

No  matter  if  I  see 
Him  do  it,  he  vill  always  say, 

Oh  no,  dat  vas  not  me! 

I  pounds  him  hard  as  never  vas, 

He  yells  and  runs  away, 
But  still  he  tells  me  great  big  lies, 

A  dozen  ev'ry  tay. 


102  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Veil,  ven  Sheorge  Vashington  growd  up, 
Dem  Shonny  Pulls  corned  o'er 

And  kicked  up  yust  an  awful  fuss 
Upon  our  peaceful  shore. 

Den  Sheorge  corned  out  mit  his  hatchet 

A  hangin  py  his  side, 
And  slashed  dem  fellows  right  and  left, 

Und  soon  made  dem  go  died. 

Und  den  dem  Shonny  Pulls  dey  stay 

Away  de  sea  across, 
Und  all  de  peoples  here  dey  said, 

Now,  Sheorge,  you  be  our  boss. 

Und  den  dey  built  a  great  big  town 
Und  called  it  Vashington, 

In  honor  of  dat  man  who  for 
Our  country  vict'ry  won. 

Den  built  for  him  a  great  big  house, 

Dey  called  it  Capitol, 
Den  von  tay  Sheorge  he  vas  go  died, 

Now  den,  I've  tolt  you  all. 

Und  on  de  twenty-second  tay 

Of  February,  ve 
Should  always  make  great  speeches  like 

Dis  von  yust  made  by  me. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  103 


THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  DILEMMA. 

Tis  funny,  deed  it  is,  to  hear 
An  Englishman,  he  talks  so  queer ; 
He  drops  his  H  where  there  is  one 
And  puts  one  on  where  there  is  none. 

A  Yankee  heats  his  soup  then  eats, 
The  Johnny  Bull  eats  his  then  heats, 
When  I  spell  life  I  start  with  L, 
While  he  begins  the  same  with  Hell. 

Ah,  that  reminds  me  of  a  joke 

I  heard  about  my  friend  Tom  Koke, 

An  Englishman  I  often  meet 

When  I  go  strolling  down  Main  Street. 

The  joke  was  this,  he  one  day  tried 
To  use  the  phone,  he  rang,  then  cried, 
Please  central,  give  me  five,  two,  hell ! 
Of  course  he  wanted  five,  two,  L. 

But  central  did  not  understand 
The  gentleman  from  British  Land, 
So  she  replied,  What  letter  sir? 
And  Tommy  sharply  answered  her, 

The  figures  are,  five,  two,  and,  well, 
The  letter  that  I  want  is  Hell ! 
Back  came  the  answer  clear  and  fine, 
That  place,  sir,  isn't  on  our  line. 


104  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

THREE  DUTCHMAN  WHO  COULD  EACH 
SPEAK  ONE  SENTENCE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Three  dutchmen,  fresh  from  the  old  fatherland, 
Along  a  railroad  once  wended  their  way, 
Searching  for  work,  and  the  legend  relates, 
Each  but  one  sentence  in  English  could  say. 

The  first  one,  named  Strauss,  could  only  repeat, 
"Us  three  dutchmen";   the  second,  named  Wesser, 
Could  say,  "Fifteen  cents,"  while  the  third  named  Max, 
Could  say  distinctly,  "Sooner  de  besser." 

As  they  journeyed  along,  they  chanced  to  find 
A  dead  man,  who  by  a  train  had  been  killed, 
Those  three  dutchmen  stopped  and  gazed  upon  him, 
While  the  heart  of  each  one  with  pity  was  filled. 

A  trav'ler  drew  near,  who  beholding  the  corpse, 
Addressed  the  dutchmen  in  English.    Said  he, 
Who  murdered  this  man?    Then  Strauss  made  reply, 
Us  three  dutchmen,  then  grinned  waggishly. 

And  what  was  it  for?    the  man  said  again. 
Fifteen  cents,  at  once  answered  Wesser. 
Well,  you'll  all  be  hung,  the  man  made  reply. 
Then  Max,  with  a  grin  said,  Sooner  de  besser. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  10H 


SAM  STEELE'S  DURHAM  BULL. 

Sam  Steele  had  a  bull  of  the  durham  kind, 
As  sleek  and  as  round  as  any  you'd  find, 
And  he  weighed  the  greater  part  of  a  ton, 
He  was  greatly  admired  by  most  ev'ry  one. 

The  Steele  farm  was  near  to  old  Hannastown, 
A  quaint  little  village  of  great  renown, 
Because  the  bloodthirsty  Indians  one  day 
Had  set  it  on  fire  and  burned  it  away. 

This  monstrous  big  bull  had  for  his  abode, 
A  meadow  which  bordered  upon  the  high-road ; 
Where  he  ate  and  drank  and  murmured,  Moo-oo ! 
While  the  little  black  terrier  would  answer,  Boo-woo! 

This  bull  was  quite  gentle,  and,  until  full  grown, 
Was  easily  approached,  he  never  was  known 
To  attack  either  man,  little  boy  or  fair  maid. 
So  no  one  who  knew  him  was  ever  afraid. 

It  happened  one  day,  in  the  year  eighty-two, 
That  the  people  turned  out,  patriotic  and  true, 
To  attend  a  centennial  at  old  Hannastown 
Which  a  century  before  the  Indians  burned  down. 

As  if  fate  decreed  it,  a  large  city  band, 

Inside  that  bull's  meadow  had  taken  its  stand, 

For  several  hours  those  players  stood  there, 

And  sweet  strains  of  music  rang  out  through  the  air. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  there  came  a  loud  roar, 
As  if  the  war  cannons  were  turned  loose  once  more ; 
The  drummer  turned  round  to  see  what  had  come, 
When  the  big  durham  bull  ran  his  head  through  his  drum. 


106  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Then,  raging  and  snorting,  away  that  bull  sped 
Right  through  the  large  crowd,  with  the  drum  on  his 
Across  the  green  meadows,  up  the  hill-top,  [head, 

Still  snorting  and  mooing,  to  frightened  to  stop. 

At  iast,  after  struggling,  he  threw  off  the  drum, 
Then  facing  the  crowd,  who,  to  view  him,  had  come, 
He  seemed  wont  to  say,  I'm  a  beast  of  renown, 
For  didn't  I  celebrate  old  Hannastown? 


THERE'D  BE  NO  USE  FER  LAWYERS  IF  ALL 
FOLKS  LIVED  LIKE  US. 

Good  mornin,  Lawyer  Jackson,  I've  jes  bin  readin  about 
A  tale  found  in  "Farm  Ballads,"  called  "Betsy  and  I  are 

out," 

'Twas  written  by  Will  Carl'ton,  a  smart  man  he  must  be 
To  write  about  em  scrappers  that  couldn't  never  agree; 
I  low  thar  war  hair  pullin  twixt  at  ere  man  an  wife, 
But  with  us,  sir,  'tis  diff'rent,  we  don't  live  sich  a  life ; 
My  wife  an  me  agree,  sir,  we  don't  ne'er  fight  nor  fuss, 
There'd  be  no  use  fer  lawyers  if  all  folks  lived  like  us. 

The  trouble  with  that  couple,  they  both  bad  tempers  had, 
You  see  it  took  but  leetle  to  make  both  of  em  mad ; 
When  she  had  her  opinion,  she  firmly  to  it  stuck, 
He  did  the  same  with  his'n  an  so  they  had  bad  luck ; 
Had  it  bin  me  an  Minnie  that  had  lost  at  ere  cow, 
I  wouldn't  have  kicked  a  quarrel  about  the  question  how, 
I  wouldn't  have,  like  some  fellers,  stirred  up  a  ugly  muss, 
There'd  be  no  use  fer  lawyers  if  folks  behaved  like  us. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  107 


If  folks  would  larn  to  govern  their  tempers  ev'ry  day 
And  each  give  in  a  leetle,  they'd  find  that  it  would  pay ; 
Don't  think  I  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  I  don't  now  an  then 
Say  things  that's  unbecomin  to  the  decentest  kind  of  men ; 
I'll  own  sometimes  my  temper,  an  Min's,  too,  fer  all  that, 
Will  break  loose  with  all  fury  an  then  we'll  have  a  spat, 
But  we  never  call  hard  names,  sir,  nor  rip  nor  swear  an 

cuss, 
There'd  be  no  use  fer  lawyers  if  folks  were  all  like  us. 

What  is  that  application  you're  riten  out,  I  see, 
Divorce  sir,  some  more  persons,  who  couldn't  quite  agree  ? 
Only  three  months  married,  an  now  they  want  to  part  ? 
O  dear  me,  that  is  dreadful,  it  well  nigh  breaks  my  heart. 
He  says  she's  been  unfaithful  the  past  two  months,  while 

he 

Has  borne  his  lot  with  patience  an  toiled  unceasingly? 
You  never  would  have  sich  cases  like  that  one  to  discuss, 
You'd  have  to  quit  the  bizness  if  folks  agreed  like  us. 

Of  course  the  best  men  sometimes  will  do  things  hastily, 
Things  don't  go  smooth  at  all  times  atwixt  my  wife  an 

me; 

But  if  there  is  a  diff'rence,  I  keep  on  the  alert 
An  I  will  never  say  things  that  will  her  f  eelins  hurt ; 
Twelve  years  now  we've  bin  married,  and  still  our  honey- 
moon 

Has  never  yet  passed  over,  I  hope  it  will  not  soon, 
Though  we  may  sometimes  jangle,  we  do  not  quarrel  nor 

fuss, 
We  soon  would  have  no  lawyers  if  all  folks  lived  like  us. 


108  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


We  have  our  fam'ly  worship  afore  we  go  to  bed, 
An  then  we  kiss  the  same  as  the  nite  that  we  wuz  wed 
An  ev'ry  day  her  kisses  seem  to  grow  e'en  more  sweet, 
Her  slender  form  an  features  seem  jist  as  fair  an  neat 
As  on  that  nite  the  preacher  pronounced  we  two  as  one, 
The  days  of  our  embracin  I'm  sure  will  ne'er  be  done, 
Fer  I  still  call  her  pet  names  an  o'er  her  make  a  fuss, 
You  lawyers  would  soon  starve,  sir,  if  all  folks  lived 
like  us. 


THE  TWO  CONGRESSMEN. 

Two  congressmen,  some  years  ago, 

Were  seated  in  the  throng 
At  Washington,  one  came  from  town, 

The  other  did  belong 
To  that  ere  class  of  people  who 

Work  hard  at  pullin  weeds, 
Whom  city  sports,  contemptuously, 

Sometimes  call  ole  hayseeds ; 
I've  alers  bin  a  farmer,  sir, 

An  alers  will  be  one, 
I'll  stick  to  my  ole  rural  home 

Until  my  days  are  done ; 
As  long  as  I  have  strength,  I'll  work, 

An  when  my  strength  is  gone, 
An  I'm  too  ole  to  plow  or  hoe, 

I'll  live  with  my  son  John. 

But  'tis  about  em  congressmen 

I  have  a  tale  to  tell; 
One  day  a  bill  was  introduced 
By  Mr.  Henry  Bell, 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  109 


The  city  congressman,  he  said, 

That  his  bill  would  relieve 
The  lab'rin  man,  but  Farmer  Hay 

Said,  he  did  not  believe 
It  would,  that  his  opinion  was 

The  bill  was  just  a  plan 
To  help  the  rich,  an  jist  a  scheme 

To  rob  the  lab'rin  man. 
Then  Mr.  Bell  said,  with  a  sneer, 

While  someone  muttered,  Hi-i-ss ! 
Now  what  does  that  ole  hayseed  know 

About  a  thing  like  this? 

Then  Farmer  Hay  riz  up  an  said, 

Please,  Mr.  Speaker,  I 
Will  to  that  city  chuckle-head, 

Jist  make  a  short  reply; 
One  day,  last  year,  that  man  come  out 

To  spend  a  day  with  me 
Upon  my  farm,  he  run  about 

All  o'er  the  place  to  see 
The  wheat  an  corn  a  growin  up, 

The  taters  in  the  ground, 
He  spent  the  day  all  out  of  doors, 

He  went  a  toddlin  round 
Frum  place  to  place,  he  viewed  the  cows, 

The  hosses  an  the  sheep, 
An  said  his  visit  to  my  farm, 

He  did  enjoy  a  heap. 

When  I  went  out  that  afternoon 

To  let  my  hosses  loose, 
I  seed  that  man  a  followin  up 
A  big  ole  mother  goose 


110  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

That  had  ten  goslins  waddlin  by, 

He  kep  on  all  that  day 
A  foll'win  them,  then  said  to  me, 

Tis  funny,  Mr.  Hay, 
I've  watched  that  goose  all  afternoon, 

While  she  the  grass  blades  plucked, 
To  see  if  I  could  find  out  how 

Them  little  goslins  sucked. 

A  roar  of  laughter  sounded  forth, 
Bell's  face  to  crimson  turned. 

The  speaker,  with  a  smile,  then  said, 
This  meeting  stands  adjourned. 


BARBARY  FRIGERATOR. 

It  vas  down  in  dem  cornfields  by  de  vay, 
On  von  bright  varm  September  tay, 
Dere  stood  de  vails  of  Fredericktown, 
Close  by  dem  mountains  vinding  down. 

Und  near  py  dem  dose  apple  trees 
Und  peach  trees  dot  de  eyes  vould  please, 
It  made  dem  rebels  stummicks  thump, 
As  dey  came  by  mit  hop  and  shump. 

For  'twas  on  dot  September  tay, 
Dat  Stonywall  Shack  did  march  dot  vay, 
Mit  horse  and  mule  he  come  to  town, 
Over  de  mountains  tumbling  down. 


HUMOROUS  POEMS  111 


Und  in  der  vinds  dere  flapped  dat  tay, 
Yust  forty  flags  de  people  say, 
But  ven  py  noon  de  tay  vas  done 
De  people  den  could  see  not  von. 

But  old  Barbary  Frigerator  den, 

Who  vas  old  py  fourscore  years  und  ten, 

Und  braver  than  dot  rebel  wag, 

She  yust  snatched  up  dot  good  old  flag, 

Und  in  de  vindow  it  did  set 

To  show  she  vouldn't  give  up  yet. 

Den  up  de  street  come  Stonywall  Shack, 
A  riding  on  his  old  mule's  back, 
Mit  his  old  slouch  hat  on  his  head, 
He  glanced  und  dis  is  vat  he  said, 

Halt,  dere  hangs  a  yankee  flag! 
Now  fire  and  shoot  de  dirty  rig! 
Out  plazed  dem  guns  so  awful  shrill, 
But  Barbary  Frigerator  vas  dere  still. 

Und  den  she  yust  peeped  out  und  said, 
Shoot  if  you  must  dis  old  bald  head, 
But  you  yust  let  dat  old  flag  be 
Or  you  vill  haf  to  deal  mit  me  I 

Den  Stonywall  Shack  he  yust  looked  down 
Und  o'er  his  face  vas  spread  a  frown, 
But  pooty  soon  looked  up  und  said, 
Who  pulls  a  hair  from  dat  bald  head 
Vas  dead  already,  skip  right  along, 
Und  avay  den  vent  dat  rebel  throng. 


112  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

All  day  long  dat  flag  did  vave, 

Emblem  of  de  true  imd  de  brave, 

Ven  evening  come  de  sun's  big  light 

Looked  down  und  laughed  und  said,  Good  night ! 

Barbary  Frigerator  she  vas  now  dead, 
Und  Stonywall  Shack,  dot  rebel,  has  led 
His  men  to  war  for  de  very  last  time, 
Dey  both  now  live  in  dat  beautiful  clime 
Avay  up  dere  in  dat  bright  blue  sky, 
Vere  no  guns  boom,  und  no  bullets  fly, 
Now  softly  over  both  their  graves, 
The  good  old  Stars  and  Stripes  still  vaves. 


BACKWOODS  JIM'S  LECTURE  TO  THE  HIGH 
SCHOOL  STUDENTS. 

"I  aint  no  scientist,  not  me ; 

I  don't  know  much  philosophy, 

I  never  went  to  college  nor 

To  even  High  School,  little  more 

'N  readin,  riten's  all  I  got, 

Cause,  as  you  know,  it  was  my  lot 

To  be  uv  common  backwoods  kind, 

No  chance  to  elevate  my  mind." 

"But  there's  occashuns,  now  an  then, 
You'll  find  thare  is  some  backwoods  men 
That  hev  as  much  good  sense  an  brain 
As  enny,  an  if  they  could  train 


HUMOROUS  POEMS 


Their  intellect,  they'd  stand  in  line 
With  Lincoln  an  great  men  who  shine 
Before  the  world,  an  I  might,  too, 
If  I  hed  chances  you  boys  do." 

"Some  men  hev  minds  so  weak  an  glum, 
They  are  too  dum  to  know  they're  dum; 
But  that  aint  me,  I  don't  know  much, 
But  I  aint  classed  along  with  such; 
I  ne'er  went  much  to  school,  I'm  slow, 
But  still  I'm  glad  I  learned  to  know 
That  others  knowd  much  more  than  me, 
That's  one  thing  I  could  plainly  see." 

"I  knowd  a  feller  wunst  that  walked 
Down  street  one  day  an  stopped  an  talked 
With  diff'rent  friends,  an  all  ud  say, 
'Why,  what's  the  matter,  Brown,  today, 
You  must  be  sick,  you're  pale  as  death  ?' 
An  all  ud  stop  and  hold  their  breath ; 
But  Brown  jist  answered,  'No  sir  ee, 
I'm  jist  as  well  as  I  kin  be!" 

"But  ev'rywhare  he  went  that  day, 
Some  one  ud  stop  him  an  ud  say, 
Persumably  in  great  surprise, 
'Why,  Brown,  you're  sick,  indeed  your  eyes 
Hev  really  got  a  death  like  stare!' 
'Twas  jist  made  up,  so  they  could  scare 
Brown  into  b'lieving  he  was  sick, 
An  they  succeeded  in  they're  trick." 

8 


114  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

"Fer  by  the  time  six  men  bed  said 
That  he  was  sick,  he  went  to  bed, 
An  sent  off  fer  the  Doctor,  too; 
A.n  Doc  he  come,  but  he  seen  through 
The  joke,  an  said,  'You're  very  ill, 
Fer  one  whole  week  you  must  lay  still !' 
An  fer  a  week  there  laid  ole  Brown, 
As  well  as  enny  man  in  town." 

"Imagination,  that  was  it! 
Ole  Brown,  he  wasn't  sick  one  bit ; 
But  we  are  made  tiv  common  clay, 
An  some  get  fooled  most  ev'ry  day 
Because  some  uv  us  are  too  slow 
To  ketch  on  to  what  others  know ; 
An  let  me  say  that  such  you'll  find 
Aint  alays  uv  the  backwoods  kind." 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  315 


>oerrL&  iJor  ©ftifilren. 


THE  GOBLINS  ROUND  MY  BED. 

One  nite  my  sister  read  to  me 
That  poem  Riley  rote  about 
Them  ugly  goblins  that  he  said 
"Will  git  you  if  you  don't  watch  out/1 
An  nen  she  took  me  up  to  bed 
An  tucked  me  in  an  said,  Good  nite! 
Nen  waited  till  I  went  to  sleep, 
An  nen  she  took  away  the  lite. 

Nen  after  while  I  waked  an  saw 
A  hundred  goblins  round  my  bed; 
One  was  all  mouth,  an  one  all  eyes, 
An  one  was  ist  a  gra  big  head; 
Nen  one  jumped  up  on  top  my  bed 
An  winked  his  big  green  eyes  at  me, 
An  one  gapped  his  big  jaws,  I  thought 
That  he  was  gone  to  swallow  me. 

Nen  I  ist  cried  with  all  my  mite, 

An  in  come  runnin  my  mamma 

An  said,  "What  is  the  matter,  dear? 

Nen  I  told  her  that  I  ist  saw 

A  hundred  goblins  runnin  round, 

An  jumpin  on  my  little  bed, 

Nen  she  ist  laffed  with  all  her  mite, 

"You  ist  think  so,  my  dear,"  she  said. 


116  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


"There  are  no  goblins  child,"  said  she, 
"O  yes,  there  is,  Mamma,"  I  said ; 
"I  saw  a  hundred  runnin  round, 
One  had  big  green  eyes  in  his  head." 
But  she  ist  laffed  an  said,  "You  dreamed 
You  saw  them,"  but  I  ist  don't  care 
What  people  say,  I  saw  them  an 
I'm  sure  there  was  a  hundred  there. 

^Ah  _  fto  _  <y^ 

THE  POLYWOG. 

Wunst  I  went  down  to  a  big  pond, 
It  was  that  one  ist  beyond 
My  Uncle  Henry's  barn,  you  know 
That  place  where  such  big  cattails  grow, 
An  calamus,  an  stuff  like  that; 
Well,  I  went  down  an  I  ist  sat 
Down  on  a  gra  big  stone  beside 
The  pond,  I  tell  you  it  was  wide. 

Then  purty  soon  I  seed  a  frog 
A  sittin  on  a  gra  big  log, 
His  back  was  green  as  grass  an  he 
Sat  there  an  ist  looked  right  at  me ; 
Nen  I  ist  laffed  an  said,  Ho,  ho ! 
I  guess  he  thought  I  said,  Go,  go ! 
Fer  he  ist  gave  a  jump  an  nen 
I  did  not  see  that  frog  again. 

Nen  I  looked  in  the  water  where 
It  wasn't  deep,  an  I  seed  there 
A  funny  thing,  it  was  all  head 
An  tail,  I  laffed  an  nen  I  said, 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  117 

Ho,  ho !  what  is  this  thing  I  see  ? 
It's  ist  as  funny  as  kin  be; 
Nen  I  caught  it  an  held  it  tight, 
An  I  runned  home  with  all  my  might. 

When  I  got  home  I  showed  my  ma 
The  funny  thing,  she  laffed,  Ha,  ha ! 
Nen  said,  That  is  a  tadpole,  dear, 
That  is  the  way  they  first  appear 
When  they  are  hatched  out  of  the  eggs, 
By  an  by  it  will  have  legs 
And  soon  'twill  turn  into  a  frog, 
Sometimes  'tis  called  a  polywog. 

Nen  after  that  I  had  good  fun 
Per  ev'ry  afternoon  I'd  run 
Down  to  the  pond  and  watch  the  wogs 
As  they  grow'd  up  into  big  frogs ; 
But  now  the  pond  is  frozen  o'er, 
An  I  can't  see  the  wogs  no  more, 
But  summer  days  will  come  an  nen 
I'll  see  my  little  wogs  again. 


THE  PRETTIEST  GIRL  I  EVER  SAW. 

The  boys  at  school,  most  ev'ry  day, 
Jist  laugh  and  talk  the  silliest  way 
About  the  prettiest  girls  they  know, 
From  morn  till  eve,  'tis  Floss  and  Flo 
And  Bessie  Brown  and  Sally  Gray, 
I  hear  the  same  old  song  each  day, 
It  makes  a  sober  scholar  feel 
Like  throwing  up  his  noonday  meal. 


118  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Sometimes  they  go  to  teasing  me, 

They  laugh  and  say,  Hi,  hi,  Jimmee ! 

Come  tell  us  now  what  girl  you  think 

Is  prettiest,  and  then  they  wink 

At  one  another,  but  I  play 

My  little  game  just  then,  and  say, 

The  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw, 

Is  my  own  darling  sweet  mamma! 


THE  BOYS'  THANKSGIVING  DAY. 

Thanksgiving  Day,  Thanksgiving  Day! 
We  boys  are  happy,  free  and  gay ; 
No  school  today,  and  Oh,  the  sun 
Is  shining  bright,  now  for  some  fun ; 
The  air's  just  cool  enough  today 
For  boys  to  romp  and  race  and  play, 
We'll  roam  the  meadows,  climb  the  hill, 
With  laughter  we  the  air  will  fill. 

Kind  mother  will  prepare  a  roast, 
A  turkey  gobbler,  none  can  boast 
Of  better  grub  than  our's  today, 
When  we  come  rushing  in  from  play, 
And  see  old  gobbler  done  so  brown, 
Upon  the  table,  we'll  sit  down 
And  smack  our  lips  and  go  um,  um, 
And  say,  Please  mother,  give  me  some. 

Then,  while  we  eat,  mother  will  say, 
Boys,  we  must  not  forget  today, 
That  there  are  poor  who  cannot  eat 
Such  meals  as  ours,  that  we  must  treat 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  119 

All  such  with  kindness,  try  to  make 
Them  happy,  then  we  say,  We'll  take 
Some  good  things  to  old  Aunty  Moore, 
For  she  is  sick  and  very  poor. 

Then,  after  we  have  ate  our  fill, 
With  basket  filled,  across  the  hill 
We  go  and  soon  we  reach  the  door 
Of  the  small  house  of  Aunty  Moore. 
It  is  a  treat  to  see  her  face 
Light  up  with  joy  when  we  boys  place 
The  good  things  all  before  her  there, 
And  hear  her  say,  "Well,  I  declare!" 

Then  out  again  to  run  about, 
With  merry  laughter,  cheer  and  shout  ; 
O  we  just  have  such  splendid  sport, 
The  day  for  us  is  much  too  short  ; 
But  ev'ning  comes  at  last,  and  so, 
All  hungry,  we  to  supper  go, 
Then  soon  all  sound  asleep  are  we, 
The  day  is  now  but  memory. 


FARMER  RINGER'S  GANDER. 

There  is  a  gander  in  the  pen 
Down  at  old  farmer  Ringer's; 
Of  all  the  poultry  in  his  flock, 
He  is  the  chief  of  singers. 

When  I  go  down  to  play  with  Ed, 
I  very  soon  can  hear  him, 
For  he  just  screams  with  all  his  might, 
The  moment  I  come  near  him. 


120  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

When  I  come  near  he  drops  his  head, 
And  comes  at  me  a  hissing, 
And  makes  a  dive  as  if  he'd  like 
To  give  my  feet  a  kissing. 

One  time  I  poked  my  foot  at  him, 
It  brought  me  awful  woe,  sir, 
For  quick  as  flash  he  made  a  dash 
And  caught  me  by  the  toe,  sir. 

And  he  hung  on  for  quite  awhile, 
I  pulled,  while  loudly  crying, 
Till  Mrs.  Ringer  came  and  said, 
I  thought  you  were  a  dying. 

She  took  a  club  and  drove  him  off, 
Thanks  for  her  prompt  assistance, 
But  since  that  day,  from  that  old  pen, 
I  keep  at  a  safe  distance. 


TWO  GIRLS  I  KNOW. 

I  know  two  girls  'bout  big  as  me, 
An  they're  ist  diff 'rent  as  can  be ; 
The  name  of  one  is  Mary  Ann, 
An  she's  the  bestest  girl,  she  can 
Ist  run  an  play  all  day  with  me, 
An  laff  so  sweet,  you  never  see 
Her  pout  nor  hear  her  scold  or  bawl, 
She  never  does  bad  things  at  all. 

If  I  fall  down  or  stub  my  toe, 
She  don't  make  fun,  but  says,  O-oh ! 
Poor  little  boy  at  was  too  bad, 
Nen  purty  soon  she  makes  me  glad ; 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  121 

Nen  off  again,  upon  a  run, 
We  go  an  have  the  bestest  fun, 
Yes,  I  like  her  an  she  likes  me, 
An  ev'ry  day  we  can  agree. 

The  other  girl  is  Sarah  Rigg, 

An  she  ist  thinks  at  she  is  big ; 

But  I  ist  hate  to  see  the  day 

When  she  comes  round,  if  she'd  ist  stay 

At  home  I'm  sure  I'd  like  it  well, 

Fer  when  she  comes  she  takes  a  spell 

Of  madness  an  ist  jaws  about, 

Till  I  get  mad  an  we  fall  out. 

She  never  pities  me  at  all 

When  I  get  hurt,  but  says,  Now  bawl, 

Big  baby,  quick,  run  tell  your  ma 

I  throwd  you  down,  he  he,  ha  ha! 

Nen  I  get  awful  mad  an  say, 

I  will  not  play  another  day 

With  you,  an  you  shant  play  with  me, 

Nen  I  run  off  an  leave  her  be. 


POND  LILIES 

Pretty  lilies  in  the  pond, 

How  you  smile  on  me; 
Though  my  reach  you're  far  beyond, 

Yet  I  joy  to  see 
Your  bright  faces  smiling  sweet, 

Bringing  such  good  cheer 
To  your  many  friends  you  greet, 

Who  come  strolling  here. 


122  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

In  the  morning  you  appear 

Very  wide  awake, 
But  when  ev'ning's  shades  draw  near, 

You  prepare  to  take 
Your  night's  rest,  and  gently  fold 

Your  bright  petals  tight, 
Shelt'ring  you  from  damp  and  cold 

Through  the  livelong  night. 


MY  BLACK  PLAYMATE. 

I  know  a  negro  boy,  an  he 
Is  ist  as  black  as  he  can  be; 
But  he  can  make  the  mostest  fun, 
Fer  he  can  hop  an  jump  an  run 
An  dance  an  turn  a  somerset 
An  nen  stand  on  his  head  an  get 
Up  on  the  fence  an  walk  along, 
An  he  ist  sings  the  funniest  song. 

I  play  with  him  most  ev'ry  day, 
Sometimes  some  stuck  up  folks  will  say 
To  ma,  Why  do  you  let  your  Ben 
Play  with  at  nigger  boy,  an  nen 
My  ma  she  up  an  says,  Take  care 
Ist  what  you  say,  at  boy  out  ere, 
If  he  is  black,  is  ist  as  good 
As  any  in  this  neighborhood! 

If  he  is  black,  he's  never  mean, 
An  his  young  heart  is  ist  as  clean 
As  any  heart  at  ever  beat; 
She  tells  em  'tis  a  shame  to  treat 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN 


A  boy  so  mean  because  his  skin 

Is  black,  an  if  they'd  ist  look  in 

To  their  own  hearts,  they'd  find,  no  doubt, 

They's  black  inside  as  he  is  out. 

Nen  after  they  have  et  her  pill, 
They  curl  their  lips  but  ist  keep  still. 


WHAT  I  SAW  ON  THE  BIG  ROAD. 

Wunst  I  went  down  the  big  long  road, 
An  I  ist  seed  the  biggest  toad 
At  ever  hopped  about,  I  guess, 
Nen  I  went,  Booh!  an  nen  he  jes 
Hopped  off  into  the  grass  an  nen 
I  never  seed  at  toad  again. 

An  nex  a  tumble-bug  I  found 
A  rollin  a  big  ball  around, 
Right  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
An  nen  the  first  thing  at  I  knowd, 
Anuther  bug  flied  there,  nen  they 
Both  rolled  at  ball  around  fer  play. 

When  I  got  home  I  told  my  ma 
About  the  bugs  an  toad  I  saw, 
Nen  she  ist  laffed  an  said,  My  son, 
I  spose  you  had  a  lot  of  fun. 


124  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

MY  MA'S  GRIDDLE  CAKES. 

My  ma  she  ist  so  often  makes 
The  nicest,  sweetest  griddle  cakes, 
She  mixes  up  a  lot  of  stuff, 
Nen  laffs  an  says,  "Guess  ats  enough 
To  make  a  meal  fer  Pa  and  me 
An  James  an  Tom  an  Margery ; 
An  nen  she  bakes  fer  quite  awhile 
Till  she  has  made  a  gra  big  pile. 

An  nen  she  rings  our  dinner  bell, 
Nen  Carlo  he  sets  up  a  yell, 
An  our  old  gobbler  gobbles  so, 
An  bossy  moos  so  soft  an  low ; 
Nen  Pa  unhitches  Nell  an  Jin 
An  feeds  em  an  nen  he  comes  in, 
Nen  we  all  eat  our  cakes  an  nen 
Pa  soon  goes  out  to  plow  again. 

Wunst  when  my  ma  baked  cakes  I  et 
Too  many  an  I  wont  ferget 
How  my  poor  stummick  ached,  yi,  yi, 
I  thought  at  night  at  I  would  die ! 
Nen  Ma  she  said,  My  boy  you've  got 
The  colic,  but  I  said,  I've  not, 
Fer  I  knowd  well  fer  at  at  she 
Would  give  some  castor  oil  to  me. 

But  she  went  out  an  very  soon 
Come  back  with  a  big  tablespoon 
Chuck  full  of  castor  oil  an  poured 
It  down  my  throat,  nen  I  ist  roared, 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  125 

Ugh,  ugh,  I  cried,  at  ugly  stuff, 
Next  time,  said  she,  ist  eat  enough, 
An  not  too  much  rich  griddle  cake, 
Nen  you  will  have  no  oil  to  take. 


IN  BOYHOOD  DAYS  * 

When  we  were  boys,  out  on  the  farm, 
In  springtime,  when  the  days  were  warm, 
In  meadows  green  we'd  romp  and  play 
And  wade  the  brook  not  far  away, 

There  stood  near  by  a  willow  tree, 

So  beautiful  and  shady,  we, 

Beneath  its  shade,  day  after  day, 

With  wild  delight,  would  romp  and  play. 

But  many  years  have  passed  since  then ; 
We,  who  were  boys,  have  grown  to  men ; 
We've  faced  life's  cares,  and  silver  threads 
Can  now  be  seen  upon  our  heads. 

But  the  little  brook  still  flows  along 
And  sings  the  same  sweet  happy  song 
As  in  our  youthful  days  it  sung 
When  we  were  happy,  gay  and  young. 

And,  as  once  more,  I  walk  along 
Upon  its  banks  and  hear  its  song, 
I  call  to  mind  the  days  of  yore, 
Then  I  feel  like  a  boy  once  more. 

*  The  frontispiece  cut  Illustrates  this  poem. 


126  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

CAW,  CAW!   YAW,  YAW! 

Upon  an  oak  sat  a  big  black  crow, 

Caw,  caw !  caw,  caw ! 
On  the  ground  sat  a  jolly  young  Sambo, 

Yaw,  yaw !   yaw,  yaw ! 
Said  the  old  black  crow,  I'll  fly  away, 

Caw,  caw!   caw,  caw! 
Young  Sambo  said,  All  right,  I'll  stay, 

Yaw,  yaw !   yaw,  yaw ! 


LITTLE  THINGS. 

Dear  little  children,  never  think 
That  you,  because  you're  small, 
Have  no  important  place  to  fill, 
There's  work  for  one  and  all. 

A  little  star,  up  in  the  sky, 
Alone  makes  little  light, 
But  millions  of  such  little  stars 
Can  make  the  whole  world  bright. 

So  too,  you  little  children  can, 

If  each  will  do  his  part, 

Shed  light  around  the  world  and  bring 

Joy  to  the  broken  heart. 

Then  let  your  little  lights  e'er  shine, 
Strive  some  kind  act  to  do 
Each  day,  and  Jesus  Christ  will  send 
His  blessing  down  to  you. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  127 

WHEN  ME  AND  LUCY  RUN'D  AWAY. 

Me  an  Lucy  run'd  off  one  day, 
Way,  way  down  the  big  long  road ; 
We  run'd  till  we  wuz  far  away 
Frum  all  the  houses  that  we  know'd. 

We  had  big  fun  I  ist  tell  you, 
We  seed  so  many,  many  things, 
An  wunst  I  chased  a  butterfly 
At  had  sich  pwitty  yellow  wings. 

An  nen  we  cum'd  to  a  big  tree 
Wiv  a  big  roun  black  hole  in  it, 
Nen  I  said,  Lucy,  let's  sit  down 
Right  here  an  rest  a  yittle  bit. 

I  foun  a  big  long  hollow  stick 
An  blowed  in  it,  it  went,  Toot,  toot! 
An  nen  I  heard  up  in  at  tree, 
Somefin  hollerin  out,  Hoot,  hoot! 

Me  an  Lucy  we  bofe  jumped  up 
So  quick,  an  looked  up  in  at  tree 
An  nen  we  bofe  was  awful  skeered, 
Fer  what  you  think  we  there  did  see? 

A  gra  big  ugly  fing  wiv  eyes 
As  big  around  as  dollars,  yes, 
An  bigger,  too,  they  wuz  as  big 
As  mamma's  dinner  plates,  I  guess. 

Well,  we  run'd  up  the  road  again 
As  fast  as  we  could  go,  nen  I 
Looked  back  an  seed  the  ugly  fing 
Flap  two  big  wings  an  at  us  fly. 


128  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Nen  Lucy  cried  so  awful  loud, 
An  I  got  skeerd  an  I  cried,  too, 
It's  a  big  goblin  after  us, 

0  papa,  papa,  mamma,  oo-oo! 

An  nen  I  heerd  my  papa  laff, 

An  say,  Tut,  tut,  what's  all  this  fuss? 

1  tell  you  we  wuz  glad,  jist  then, 
He  happened  to  be  huntin  us. 

Said  papa,  What  you's  cryin  fer? 
Said  I,  that  ugly  goblin,  see 
If  you  had  not  cum'd  when  you  did, 
He  would  o  gobbled  sis  an  me. 

An  nen  he  ist  let  out  a  roar 
An  said,  That  is  an  owl,  my  dear, 
He  makes  an  ugly  noise,  'tis  true, 
But  he'll  not  hurt  you,  have  no  fear. 

An  nen  we  all  ist  laffed,  the  owl 
Said  hoot,  an  flied  back  to  his  den, 
Nen  papa  took'd  us  bofe  back  home, 
We  never  run'd  away  again. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  129 

TOO  BAD. 

A  big  piece  o'  cake 
An  a  big  piece  o'  pie, 
Mamma  ist  laid  em  by 
Per  the  boy  at  don't  lie; 
Little.  Tommy  he  came  nigh 
An  give  a  gra  big  sigh 
An  he  pert  near  did  cry, 
But  he  ist  said,  O  my ! 
At  ere  boy  isn't  I, 
Cause  I  ist  tole  a  lie. 


IF  IT  WEREN'T  PER  WASHIN  THE  DISHES. 

I'd  jist  like  to  be  a  gurl, 

If  it  weren't  fer  washin  the  dishes ; 

Just  see  my  sister  May  whurl 

Her  long  hair  until  it  swishes; 

She  stands  before  the  big  glass, 

And  still  she  will  crimp  and  curl 

Two  hours  or  more  there  she'll  pass, 

How  nice  'tis  to  be  a  gurl, 

If  it  weren't  fer  washin  the  dishes. 

A  gurl  has  a  splendid  time, 

Except  when  she's  washin  the  dishes; 

See  her  strut  by,  how  sublime, 

As  gay  as  the  speckled  trout  fishes ; 

She  giggles  when  passin  the  boys, 

Oh  how  many  must  be  her  joys 

Jist  see  her  go  by  with  a  whurl, 

Yes,  I'd  like  to  be  a  gurl, 

If  it  weren't  fer  washin  the  dishes. 


130  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


HOW  MY  SIN  FOUND  ME  OUT. 

One  day  my  mamma  went  away 
To  neighbor  Brown's,  but  not  to  stay ; 
She  just  went  over  there  to  see 
If  she  could  get  some  catnip  tea, 
So  she  could  give  our  baby  some, 
I  know'd  that  very  soon  she'd  come 
Back  home  again,  and  so  I  hiked 
Away  to  sneak  something  I  liked. 

I  always  did  like  cinnamon, 
I  know'd  there  was  a  box  up  on 
The  cubboard  shelf,  I  got  a  chair, 
I  thot  that  I  would  climb  up  there 
And  get  a  big  spoonfull  to  eat, 
I  laffed  and  said,  I'll  have  a  treat, 
And  she  will  never  know  that  I 
Could  clime  up  to  a  place  so  high. 

So  I  climed  up  and  took  a  spoon — 
Full  in  my  mouth,  but  very  soon 
My  mouth  began  to  burn,  yi,  yi! 
As  if  it  wuz  on  fire,  then  I 
Run  to  the  bucket  on  the  sink, 
And  swallered  down  a  gra  big  drink; 
But  water  made  it  worse,  then  I, 
With  all  my  might,  begun  to  cry. 

Just  then  my  mamma  stepped  inside, 
And  asked  the  reason  why  I  cried ; 
"O-oo,  O-oo,"  I  cried,  "O-oo, 
My  mouth,  my  mouth  is  burning  so!' 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  131 

Then  she  looked  in  my  mouth  to  see, 
Then  she  begun  to  question  me, 
"You've  gotten  into  mischief,  son, 
Come  tell  me  now,  what  you  have  done. 

At  last  I  told  her  all,  then  she 
Looked  on  the  cubboard  shelf  to  see, 
She  soon  begun  to  laff,  and  said, 
"You  took  red  pepper,  son,  instead 
Of  cinnamon,  and  now,  don't  you 
See  what  wrong  doing  leads  you  to? 
In  your  case,  there's  no  room  for  doubt, 
Your  sin  did  surely  find  you  out." 

"And  now,  my  child,  this  lesson  learn, 
And  all  your  pain  to  good  will  turn ; 
No  good  e'er  comes  of  doing  wrong, 
And  he  who  does  it  joins  the  throng 
Who,  on  their  journey,  strike  the  trail 
Which  leads  to  ruin  and  the  jail, 
Remember  dear,  then  what  I  say, 
And  you  will  never  go  astray." 

Her  words  made  my  heart  burn  within, 
I  saw  the  greatness  of  my  sin, 
I  earnestly  resolved  to  do 
What  my  dear  mamma  wished  me  to, 
And  many  times  since  then,  I've  said, 
"I'm  glad  'twas  red  pepper  instead 
Of  cinnamon,  I  chanced  to  take, 
For  much  good  came  of  that  mistake. 


132  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

THE  YALLER- JACKETS'  NEST. 

Bert  Poole  and  brother  Will  and  me 
And  Jack  McCall  and  short  Tommie, 
His  brother,  all  went  out  one  day 
Into  the  gra  big  woods  to  play; 
And  purty  soon  I  looked  around 
And  seed  a  round  hole  in  the  ground, 
With  yaller- jackets  comin  out, 
J  jumped  and  run  and  gave  a  shout. 

"O  boys,  I  yelled,  see  what  I  found !" 
The  boys  all  come  a  runnin  round 
To  see  the  thing,  I  said,  "Look  there, 
And  you'd  better  ev'ry  one  take  care!" 
"A  yaller- jackets'  nest!"  said  Will, 
"Come  on  now  boys,  and  let  us  fill 
Our  pockets  full  of  stones  and  throw 
Them  at  the  nest,  hurrah,  ho,  ho! 
O  wont  we  have  a  lot  of  fun? 
Now,  I'll  throw  first,  then  you  all  run 
As  fast  as  ever  you  can  go, 
Per  they'll  be  after  us  I  know !" 

Will  throw'd  a  stone,  and  out  they  come 
A  circlin  round  with  angry  hum, 
All  juiit  as  mad  as  they  could  be, 
A  lookin  fer  their  enemy; 
Then  I  sneaked  up  on  my  tiptoes, 
When  spat,  there  come  aginst  my  nose, 
A  small  sharp  point  stung  me,  then  I 
Run  back  and  then  begun  to  cry. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  133 

Then  Tom  McCall  stood  by  a  tree 
And  laffed  with  all  his  might  at  me, 
Just  then  a  yaller- jacket  flew 
And  stung  the  point  of  his  nose,  too; 
Then  he  begun  to  bawl,  and  I 
Fergot  my  hurt,  I  couldn't  cry 
Fer  laffin  at  young  Tom,  cause  he 
Was  stung  on  the  same  place  as  me. 

We  come  up  there,  most  ev'ry  day, 
Into  the  woods,  to  run  and  play; 
Of  all  our  fun,  that  was  the  best 
To  stone  that  yaller- jackets'  nest; 
When  one  got  stung,  the  others  all 
Would  laff  and  shout  to  hear  him  bawl ; 
Those  happy  days  I'll  ne'er  ferget, 
I  laff  to  think  of  them  e'en  yet. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST. 

O,  I  remember  well,  when  young, 
A  great  big  hornet's  nest  that  hung 
Upon  an  apple  limb  quite  low, 
And  how  we  used  to  often  throw 
Stones  at  the  nest,  then  run  and  hide, 
While  swarms  of  hornets  circled  wide 
Beneath  the  spreading  apple  tree, 
Seeking  to  find  their  enemy. 

Once  Tip,  my  little  terrier,  stood 
Beneath  the  nest,  I  thot  I  would 
Now  have  some  fun  at  his  expense, 
I  should  have  had  much  better  sense: 


134  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

So,  picking  up  a  stone,  I  threw, 
Then  out  a  swarm  of  hornets  flew, 
And  as  no  one  but  Tip  was  near, 
They  stung  him  on  both  nose  and  ear. 

I  laffed,  but  soon  I  saw  that  he 
Was  running  fast,  right  toward  me, 
With  hornets  circling  round  him  thick, 
Ah,  dearly  I  paid  for  my  trick ; 
I  ran  as  if  my  feet  had  wings, 
But  soon  I  felt  the  hornets'  stings, 
For  Tip  o'ertook  me,  and  his  foes 
Stung  me  on  ears  and  eyes  and  nose. 

Poor  Tip  ran  yelping,  so  did  I, 
My  mother  heard  both  of  us  cry, 
She  laffed  at  me  and  said,  "Ha  Ben, 
Been  stoning  hornets'  nests  again  ? 
I  hope  you  now  are  satisfied 
With  sport  like  that,"  and  I  replied, 
"Yes  mother,  with  that  kind  of  fun, 
I'll  promise  you  that  I  am  done !" 


HOW  I  KETCHED  A  BUMBLEBEE. 

Wun  time  my  brother  Will  an  me 

Wuz  watchin  a  big  bumblebee 

A  buzzin  roun  the  hollyhocks 

That  growd  along  our  front  yard  walks ; 

He  bummed  so  lazily  about, 

Into  a  hollyhock,  nen  out, 

Nen  in  a  nuther  wun  he'd  go, 

An  all  the  time  kep  buzzin  so. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  135 

Will  said  to  me,  "Now  watch  me  how 
I'm  gone  to  ketch  that  feller  now !" 
When  he  flied  into  wun  again, 
Will  squeezed  it  shut  right  quick  an  nen 
Pulled  off  the  hollyhock  an  soon 
We  heerd  that  bee  hummin  a  tune; 
We  bofe  laffed  loud,  it  wuz  sich  fun, 
1st  nen  I  seed  a  nuther  wun. 

I'm  gone  to  ketch  that  wun,  I  said, 
1st  nen  I  seed  him  stick  his  head 
Into  a  hollyhock,  nen  I 
Pressed  it  together,  but,  yi,  yi! 
That  bumblebee  stuck  his  point  froo 
That  hollyhock,  I  cried,  "Boo  hoo!" 
Ma  heerd  me  cry,  nen  she  called  out, 
"Boys,  what  is  all  that  noise  about?' 

An  nen  I  cried  again,  "Boo  hoo!" 
Will  said,  "Don't  cry,  you  baby  you!'* 
An  nen  he  laffed  an  told  ma  how 
I  had  got  stung,  nen  ma  said,  "Now 
Will,  you  are  older  an  you  ought 
To  have  known  better!"  nen  she  got 
A  stick  an  whipped  him  hard  till  he 
1st  bawled  much  louder  yet  than  me. 


THE  BULLFROG. 

The  bullfrog  is  a  funny  fellow, 
His  head  is  green,  his  breast  is  yellow, 
His  eyes  are  always  bulging  out, 
He  looks  just  like  a  lazy  lout. 


136  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

But  he's  not  lazy,  he's  quite  smart, 
If  you  come  near  him  he  will  start 
As  quick  as  flash,  with  one  big  leap, 
He  plunges  in  the  mud  so  deep. 

All  summer  long  he  hops  about, 
Into  the  pond  he  goes,  then  out 
Again  he  comes,  when  all  is  still, 
He  sings  his  little  song  so  thrill. 

When  winter  comes,  he'll  disappear, 
For  months  his  song  we  will  not  hear ; 
All  winter  long,  both  day  and  night, 
He's  buried  deep,  all  out  of  sight. 

But  when  warm  days  of  Spring  appear, 
His  merry  song  again  we'll  hear, 
And  soon  we'll  see  him  on  the  shore, 
As  fat  and  plump  as  e'er  before. 

We're  always  glad  to  hear  him  sing, 
His  song  assures  us  that  bright  Spring 
Has  come  again,  yes,  we  all  long, 
Each  year,  to  hear  the  frogs'  sweet  song. 


A  GREAT  DAY  IS  COMING. 

A  day  is  coming,  children, 
But  none  of  us  knows  when, 
The  day  the  good  Lord  Jesus 
Will  come  to  earth  again; 
He'll  gather  us  together, 
The  good  ones  all  will  stay 
And  live  with  Him  forever, 
The  bad  he'll  drive  away. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  137 

The  good  he'll  take  to  heaven, 
In  mansions  bright  to  dwell, 
The  bad  ones,  the  old  Devil 
Will  take  right  down  to  hell ; 

0  try  and  be  good  children, 
Whene'er  you  work  or  play, 
Be  kind  to  ev'rybody, 

And  don't  forget  to  pray. 

Don't  spend  the  Sabbath  fishing 
Or  swimming  in  the  pool, 
Be  always  found  attending 
The  Church  and  Sunday-school; 
And  read  your  Bible  often, 
Be  always  good  and  true, 
And  when  the  good  Lord  Jesus 
Shall  come,  he'll  say  to  you, 

"Come  now,  my  faithful  servant, 
You  have  been  good  and  true, 
Come  see  the  nice  bright  mansion 

1  have  prepared  for  you." 
Will  you  not  then  be  happy, 
And  don't  you  think  'twill  pay, 
For  such  a  golden  mansion, 
To  serve  Him  ev'ry  day? 


WHEN  I  DISOBEYED  MY  PA. 

Wun  day  my  pa  he  said  to  me : 
"Ben,  leave  the  big  hay  cutter  be, 
An  do  not  try  to  make  it  go" ; 
Because,  he  said,  I  didn't  know 


138  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

1st  where  to  take  a  hold  of  it, 
An  it  might  hurt  me  quite  a  bit ; 
Nen  he  went  off  to  stay  all  day, 
An  I  went  to  our  barn  to  play. 

When  I  come  in,  right  near  the  door, 
I  seed  the  cutter  on  the  floor; 
UO  ho,"  I  said,  "It  would  be  fun 
To  make  that  big  old  cutter  run! 
I  don't  see  why  pa  says  I  shant, 
If  I  ist  turn  the  crank,  I  can't 
See  how  'twould  matter  much,  I'll  see 
If  ist  one  turn  will  bother  me." 

Nen  I  ist  caught  hold  of  the  crank 
An  give  it  wun  big  orf el  yank  ; 
But  my  pore  hand  caught  in  the  weel, 
You  orter  heerd  me  give  a  squeel ; 
My  ma  she  come  a  runnin  quick, 
Nen  said,  "You'll  pay,  boy,  fer  that  trick, 
See  you  have  mashed  two  fingers,  Ben." 
I  cried,  "I  won't  do  it  again !" 

It  took  two  months  till  they  got  well 
And  ever  since  that  day,  I  tell 
The  boys  I'll  do  what  pa  says  do, 
I  think  he  knows  what's  best,  don't  you  ? 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  139 


THE  SARVES-BERRY  TREE. 

On  old  Josiah  Baker's  farm, 

Down  in  the  meadows  green, 

There  flowed  a  creek,  and  in  springtime, 

The  farmer's  men  were  seen 

Making  a  dam,  the  water  rose 

Until  'twas  four  feet  deep, 

And  in  that  place,  in  May,  they'd  wash 

The  farmer's  flock  of  sheep. 

A  sarves-berry  tree  stood  near 

That  dam  the  men  had  made, 

We  boys,  who  lived  upon  the  farm, 

Oft  played  beneath  its  shade; 

One  year  the  tree  was  laden  with 

Red  berries,  and  you  know 

What  such  a  thing  would  mean  to  boys, 

It  made  their  faces  glow. 

A  half  a  dozen  of  us  climbed 
The  tree  and  picked  a  share; 
Before  two  hours  many  boughs 
On  that  tree  looked  quite  bare ; 
One  branch  extended  o'er  the  stream, 
With  fruit  'twas  bending  low, 
O  how  we  longed  for  it,  but  who 
Out  on  that  branch  would  go? 

Then  Jack  McCall,  a  neighbor  boy, 
Said,  "I  am  not  afraid !" 
And  tho  we  urged  him  not  to  go, 
The  reckless  move  was  made; 


140  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Out,  out  he  went,  right  o'er  the  stream, 
Whack  went  the  branch,  a  crash, 
And  Jack,  headfirst,  plunged  in  the  flood, 
With  a  tremendous  splash. 

We  brot  him  safely  to  the  shore, 

Drenched  to  the  skin  he  stood, 

We  laughed  and  taunted  him  and  said, 

"Jack,  were  the  berries  good?" 

He  scampered  quickly  to  his  home, 

Which  was  not  far  away, 

His  mother  met  him  at  the  door, 

And  we  boys  heard  her  say, 

"Yes,  here  you  come  again,  did  not 

I  put  clean  clothes  on  you 

This  very  morning,  and  you've  gone 

And  wet  them  through  and  through?" 

Then  she  broke  off  a  rod  and  said, 

"I'll  larn  you  to  get  wet !" 

The  tanning  which  she  gave  to  Jack, 

He's  not  forgotten  yet. 


WHAT  THE  TOOLS  SAID. 

A  lot  of  tools  spread  on  a  bench, 
A  hammer  and  a  monkey-wrench, 
A  saw,  a  chisel  and  a  square, 
A  plane  and  auger  lying  there; 
The  auger  said,  "I'm  feeling  sore, 
My  life  is  nothing  but  a  bore !" 
"And  I,"  the  hammer  said,  "must  pound 
And  always  be  just  knocked  around!" 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  141 

To  which  the  saw  then  made  reply, 
"Tis  always  on  the  go  am  I !" 
"And  I  must  always  turn  about," 
The  wrench  replied,  "now  in,  now  out!" 
Then  said  the  plane,  "Just  bear  in  mind, 
I  always  leave  smooth  paths  behind !" 
The  square  replied,  "I  do  declare, 
You'd  be  content  if  you  were  square !" 
Just  then  the  chisel  gave  a  shout, 
"We've  heard  enough,  now  cut  it  out!" 


WHEN  I  FIRST  SAW  MY  SISTER  IN  A 
WHITE  DRESS. 

Sister  Lucy,  flowers  are  growing 
On  her  grave,  have  been  for  years ; 
I  have  passed  my  fiftieth  milestone, 
Yet  my  eyes  will  dim  with  tears 
When  I  think  of  her  so  lovely, 
How  the  dear  girl,  in  distress, 
Said  to  mother,  oh  so  often, 
"Mother,  I  want  a  white  dress." 

Times  were  hard,  there  were  so  many 
Children  of  us,  most  were  small, 
And  it  kept  our  father  toiling 
To  provide  food  for  us  all ; 
We  boys,  on  our  knees  wore  patches, 
And  our  girls  dressed  very  plain, 
Many  things  indeed  we  wanted, 
But  we  longed  for  them  in  vain. 


142  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Lucy  was  but  ten  that  summer, 
I  was  twelve,  together  we 
Roamed  about  o'er  clover  meadows 
Where  the  busy  honey  bee 
Flew  from  flower  to  flower,  gath'ring 
Clover  honey,  rich  and  sweet, 
Which  we  knew,  upon  our  table, 
Would  be  placed  for  us  to  eat. 

Ev'ry  Sunday,  bright  and  early, 
To  the  church,  two  miles  away, 
We,  both  happy  and  light  hearted, 
Went,  and  oft  Lucy  would  say, 
As  she  glanced  at  her  plain  gingham, 
While  our  onward  way  we'd  press, 
"All  this  summer  I've  been  wishing 
That  I  had  a  neat  white  dress." 

It  was  one  bright  day  in  Autumn, 
I  heard  Lucy  gently  say, 
"Mother,  now  the  summer's  over, 
And  I  dress  the  same  old  way; 
O,  I  do  hope  that  next  summer, 
I  will  have  my  white  dress  sure!" 
Mother  smiled  and  said,  "I  hope  so, 
But  you  know  we're  very  poor." 

It  was  late  in  cold  December, 
She  was  taken  very  ill, 
Doctor  said,  'twas  scarlet  fever, 
Four  days  later,  cold  and  still, 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  143 

I  beheld  my  darling  sister, 
While  I  wept  in  deep  distress, 
In  her  coffin,  oh  so  lovely, 
She  was  clad  in  a  white  dress. 

Darling  sister,  flowers  are  growing 
On  her  grave,  have  been  for  years, 
Soon,  quite  soon,  I'll  take  my  journey 
To  that  home  where  all  my  tears 
Will  be  wiped  away,  where  Lucy 
To  my  bosom  I  will  press, 
There  more  beautiful  than  ever, 
She  will  wear  a  pure  white  dress. 


THE  MOONLIGHT  SHADOWS  ROUND  MY  BED. 

When  I  go  to  bed,  an  the  moonlight 

Shines  in  froo  the  winder,  I  see, 

At  the  foot  of  my  bed,  a  orful  big  head 

A  lookin  so  ugly  at  me; 

Nen  over  the  cover  comes  creepin, 

A  ugly  big  snake  wiv  green  eyes, 

An  ist  overhead,  above  my  warm  bed, 

A  orful  big  ugly  bird  flies. 

An  when  I  look  up  at  the  ceilin, 

I  see  a  big  owl  turnin  roun, 

Nen  I  ist  shiver  so,  fer  the  next  thing  I  know, 

He'll  hoot  an  nen  come  kerflop  down, 

An  what  if  he'd  dig  his  claws  into 

My  skin  an  pull  me  out  of  bed  ? 

Nen  I  grab  my  quilt  quick  an  cover  it  thick 

All  over  my  face  an  my  head. 


144  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

But  soon  I  peep  out  from  in  under 

The  cover  to  see  if  they're  gone; 

An  there,  by  my  bed,  I  see  a  nice  head 

Of  the  nicest  an  sweetest  young  fawn, 

An  behind  it  I  see  a  green  parrot 

Wiv  a  pwitty  top-knot  on  his  head, 

An  nen  I  ist  say,  "Come  beauties  we'll  play," 

An  nen  they  come  up  to  my  bed. 

Of  course  they  is  nothin  but  shadows; 
I  only  play  they  is  such  rings ; 
It's  fun  fer  to  play,  ev'ry  nite  while  I  lay 
On  my  bed,  I  see  goblins  wiv  wings, 
.     An  nen  sich  nice  fawns  an  sweet  birdies 
Aroun  me  in  sich  a  nice  heap, 
It's  ist  like  a  show,  but  the  next  ring  I  know, 
I'm  snorin  an  ist  sound  asleep. 


THE  WONDERFUL  THINGS  I  SAW. 

I  knew  a  boy  who  had  a  gun, 
Now  what  did  that  boy  do? 
He  gave  a  cough  and  then  went  off, 
And  his  gun  went  off  too. 

I  knew  a  man,  and  he  was  dumb, 
One  morning  he  awoke, 
And,  strange  to  tell,  he  tripped  and  fell 
Upon  a  wheel  and  spoke. 

I  knew  a  girl,  and  she  was  deaf, 
On  that  I'll  pledge  my  word ; 
One  day,  when  warm,  out  on  a  farm, 
She  saw  a  dog  and  herd. 


POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN  145 

I  knew  a  poor  blind  carpenter, 
He  was  my  son-in-law; 
Down  by  the  brook,  one  day  he  took 
Hold  of  his  square  and  saw. 

I  saw  a  bird  that  had  no  wings, 
That  may  seem  strange  to  you; 
But,  strange  to  tell,  one  day  it  fell 
Into  a  chimney  and  flue. 

Now  what  I've  said  may  seem  to  you 
Quite  wonderful,  but  I 
Can  truly  say,  one  summer  day, 
I  saw  a  big  horse-fly. 


WHAT  THE  WIND  CAN  DO. 

The  wind  can  roar  and  he  can  whistle, 
Can  bend  the  tree  and  shake  the  thistle. 
Can  toss  the  waves  and  wreck  the  vessel, 
Can  break  the  limbs  where  sweet  birds  nestle, 
Can  slam  the  door,  and  windows  rattle, 
Can  chill  the  pigs,  the  sheep  and  cattle, 
Benumb  the  boy  who  outdoors  lingers, 
Can  nip  the  nose  and  bite  the  fingers ; 
We  sometimes  wish  that  we  could  rout  him, 
But  still  we  cannot  do  without  him. 


10 


146  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


Memoriam, 


IN  MEMORY  OF  COLONEL  THEODORE 
ROOSEVELT. 

Thou,  too,  O  precious  friend,  from  earth  hast  fled ; 

With  sorrowing  hearts,  we  lay  thee  in  the  tomb, 
Our  hearts  bowed  low,  while  tears  are  freely  shed, 

And  fair  Columbia's  land  is  filled  with  gloom. 

Like  fruit,  unripened,  by  the  wind  is  loosed 

From  spreading  branches,  and  falls  to  the  ground, 

So  thou,  who  value  to  our  land  produced, 
Wast  early  taken  to  thy  rest  profound. 

We  mourn  thee  brother,  bosoms  swell  with  grief ; 

Too  soon,  we  feel,  thy  spirit  from  us  fled ; 
But,  mid  our  sorrow,  conies  forth  sweet  relief, 

And  we  rejoice  because  thou  art  not  dead. 

Death  cannot  touch,  nor  can  it  bear  away 
A  brave  and  noble  spirit  such  as  thine ; 

It  can  but  steal  thy  precious  mortal  clay, 
And  thy  sweet  presence  force  us  to  resign. 

Yet,  fain  would  loving  hearts  have  kept  thee  here; 

But  no,  the  loving  Lord  of  Paradise, 
Who  from  our  eyes  shall  wipe  each  bitter  tear, 

On  joyful  wings,  commanded  thee  to  rise. 

Now,  with  thy  precious  son,  in  battle  slain, 
O  joy  unspeakable,  thou  now  wilt  dwell, 

And,  with  united  hearts,  forever  reign 
With  Jesus,  Lord  and  King,  Emmanuel. 


IN  MEMORIAM  147 


Beneath  the  stately  fir,  upon  the  mound, 
Beneath  which  lies  thy  sacred  mortal  clay, 

Kind  friends,  in  after  years,  will  gather  round 
To  strew  fresh  flowers,  and  sweet  tributes  pay. 

And  say,  "Let  us  a  monument  here  rear 
For  him  whose  power  all  the  world  has  felt ; 

And  on  it,  only  let  one  word  appear, 

That  name  the  world  adores,  just  Roosevelt." 

Jan.  10,  1919. 


TO  REV.  W.  J.  MILLER,  D.  D., 

Pastor  of  Zion's  Lutheran  Church  Greensburg,  Pa.,  for  eleven  years. 
Died  December  24.  W12. 

A  precious  and  beloved  friend, 
A  tender  brother,  tried  and  true, 
Has  left  us,  and  with  wounded  hearts, 
And  tearful  eyes  we  bid  adieu 
To  him  who  served  so  faithfully, 
As  shepherd  of  his  flock,  and  led 
Them  in  the  straight  and  narrow  path, 
And  broke  for  them  the  living  bread. 

On  Monday  morn  I  clasped  his  hand, 
I  ga'feed  into  his  smiling  face; 
That  friendly  look  I'll  ne'er  forget, 
The  genuine  pure  Christian  grace, 
Which  dwelt  within  his  soul,  shone  forth 
Upon  his  faec,  like  that  which  shone 
On  Mose's  face,  and  that  which  crowns 
The  saints  around  God's  holy  throne. 


148  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

But  ere  the  day  had  closed,  the  stroke 
Of  that  grim  reaper  on  him  fell ; 
Ah!   who  knows  what  the  day  may  bring? 
None  but  Omnicient  God  can  tell. 
The  reaper  came  and  took  our  friend, 
Our  hearts  are  broken,  filled  with  grief, 
A  cloud  of  gloom  enshrouds  us  all, 
But  out  of  it  comes  sweet  relief. 

We  find  relief  when  we  recall 
The  many  virtues  of  our  friend, 
And  that  with  Jesus,  whom  he  served, 
A  blest  eternity,  he'll  spend; 
Farewell,  dear  brother,  soon,  we  too, 
The  sea  of  life  will  have  passed  o'er, 
And  then  again  we'll  clasp  thy  hand 
On  Canaan's  bright  and  happy  shore. 


TO  CLARA  BARTON. 

Founder  of  the  American  Red  Cross  Society 

Thy  long  and  useful  life  has  closed, 

Thy  pilgrimage  is  o'er, 
Earth  claims  thy  dust,  now  we  behold 

Thy  saintly  face  no  more. 

Though  earth  may  hide  thy  face  from  us, 

The  memory  of  thee 
And  of  thy  sympathetic  works 

Will  ever  with  us  be. 


IN  MEMORIAM  14.9 


The  many  soldiers  of  our  wars 

Will  e'er  revere  thy  name, 
For  they  all  well  remember  who 

To  them  in  mercy  came. 

Who  ministered  to  them  when  they 

Lay  wounded,  stiff  and  sore, 
Who  watched  by  them  and  nursed  and  brought 

Them  back  to  health  once  more. 

Blest  saint  of  God,  rest  thou  in  peace, 

In  heaven  thou  shalt  shine 
Forth  as  the  sun  and  evermore 

Great  glory  shall  be  thine. 


MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 

A  singer  sweet,  with  talent  rare, 

Has  laid  aside  her  pen; 

Her  voice  is  hushed,  her  saintly  face 

We  ne'er  shall  see  again; 

Her  hands  lie  still,  her  soul  has  fled 

To  heavenly  realms  above, 

To  tread  the  sacred  golden  streets, 

To  meet  the  God  of  love. 

Gone  forth,  yes  gone  forevermore; 

Her  pen  lies  silent,  still, 

Never  again  will  it  e'er  write 

Inspiring  verse  to  fill 

Our  hearts  with  joy,  her  last  sweet  line 

Has  by  her  hand  been  penned, 

But  'tis  God's  way,  His  law  decrees 

All  things  must  have  an  end. 


150  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Dead?  no,  she  only  sleeps,  she  lives 

Still  in  the  memory 

Of  millions  who  still  read  her  lines 

Filled  with  sweet  melody; 

Farewell,  sweet  singer!   rest  in  peace! 

A  useful  life  was  thine; 

A  bright  light  here,  but  brighter  still, 

In  heaven  thou  shalt  shine. 


TO  WILL  CARLETON. 

Thou  hast  departed,  brother! 
Thy  tuneful  voice  is  hushed, 
We  now  are  bowed  in  mourning, 
Our  hearts  with  grief  are  crushed; 
For,  O  it  was  so  sudden 
The  reaper  came  for  thee, 
And  bore  thee  gently  upward 
Into  eternity. 

Death  seemed  to  be  impatient, 
Seemed  that  it  could  not  wait 
Until  the  age  allotted 
Was  reached  by  thee,  the  gate 
Of  Paradise  was  opened, 
A  still  small  voice  said,  Come, 
And  to  it  thou  didst  hearken, 
And  entered  that  blest  home. 

Yet,  though  thou  hast  departed, 
Our  sorrow  shall  be  turned 
Of  times  to  joy,  recalling 
Thy  verses  which  we  learned ; 


IN  MEMORIAM  151 


For  thou  hast  left  behind  thee 
A  priceless  legacy 
Of  songs  which  thou  hast  written 
With  sweetest  melody. 

Dead?  no,  thou  still  art  living 

In  hearts  of  millions,  who 

Acquainted  with  thy  writings, 

Have  read  them  through  and  through ; 

To  dust  thy  form  may  crumble 

And  leave  no  sign  nor  trace 

Of  hands  which  once  were  active, 

Or  of  thy  friendly  face. 

Yet,  thou  wilt  still  be  with  us, 
In  spirit  thou  wilt  dwell 
Among  us  and  thy  stanzas 
Year  after  year  shall  tell 
The  story  to  the  nations 
Of  talent  which  was  thine, 
Though  many  be  forgotten, 
With  glory  thou  shalt  shine. 

Farewell  then,  brother  poet, 
O  may  thy  mantle  fall 
On  me,  that  I  may  answer 
As  bravely  to  my  call, 
That  when  I  shall  be  summoned 
To  cross  the  narrow  sea, 
I,  too,  may  dwell  in  glory 
And  happiness  with  thee. 


152  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


TO  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

O  lovely  bard,  O  singer  sweet! 

With  joy  I  sing  of  thee ; 
Thy  face  no  more  on  earth  is  seen, 

Yet  thou  dost  speak  to  me 
Through  thy  sweet  songs  which  I  peruse, 

In  them  thy  voice  I  hear, 
Thy  precious  lines  inspire  my  soul, 

They're  music  to  my  ear. 

How  oft  I  take  thy  book  and  read 

Those  sweet  lines  o'er  and  o'er, 
"The  Huskers,"  brings  sweet  memories 

Of  happy  days  of  yore; 
"The  Barefoot  Boy,"  O  how  it  thrills 

One's  very  soul  with  joy, 
It  carries  me  to  days  when  I 

Was  but  a  barefoot  boy. 

And  "Snowbound,"  how  I  love  to  read 

That  poem  through  and  through; 
And  dismal  "Skipper  Ireson's  Ride," 

And  "Barbara  Freitchie"  too; 
Thanks  be  to  God  above,  who  gave 

Such  power  of  mind  to  thee 
To  pen  those  lines  which  helped  to  set 

The  poor  black  bondman  free. 

Oft  when  I  take  my  pen  to  write, 

And  pen  line  after  line, 
I  think  of  thee  and  of  the  gift 

And  power  that  was  thine ; 


IN  MEMORIAM 


Then  earnestly  I  pray  that  thy 
Mantle  might  fall  on  me, 

And  I  write  lines  which  shall  free  us 
From  whisky  slavery. 


TO  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Many  have  sung  the  praises  of 
The  bards  beyond  the  broad  deep  sea, 
I  now  will  sing  of  him  who  seems 
The  greatest  of  all  bards  to  me; 
He  who  in  Portland,  Maine  was  born, 
Who  afterwards  in  Cambridge  taught, 
And  put  in  verse  for  old  and  young, 
His  lovely  sentiment  and  thought. 

Oft  when  I'm  vexed  with  trials  which 
My  church-work  daily  lays  on  me, 
Thy  precious  book  I  take,  its  lines 
Bring  to  my  soul  felicity; 
And  peaceful  rest,  indeed,  I  find, 
Thy  precious  poems  long  and  brief, 
As  I  peruse  them  line  by  line, 
Bring  to  my  soul  such  sweet  relief. 

The  "Psalm  of  life,"  its  words  how  sweet, 
O  how  they  soothe  the  troubled  mind ; 
For  many  years  those  precious  lines 
Have  brought  sweet  comfort  to  mankind. 
"The  village  blacksmith,"  how  it  cheers 
The  heart  bowed  down  with  grief  and  care, 
It  brings  to  mind  those  bygone  days 
When  we  were  happy,  young  and  fair. 


154  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

And  o'er  and  o'er,  many  a  time, 

I  read  "Tales  from  a  way-side  inn," 

Those  splendid  tales,  ah  how  they  thrill 

My  very  soul  with  joy  within ; 

And  lovliest  of  all  thy  works 

Is  that  sad  tale,  "Evangeline," 

I  read  that  tale  and  oft  exclaim, 

What  wondrous  gifts  indeed  were  thine! 

I  would  that  it  had  been  my  lot 
To  gaze  but  once  upon  thy  face, 
And  that  I  might  have  heard  thy  voice 
So  full  of  tenderness  and  grace; 
From  earthly  scenes  thou  hast  gone  forth 
To  join  the  bright  angelic  choir, 
But  thou  hast  left  thy  words  behind, 
Sweet  lines  our  young  hearts  to  .inspire. 

Whene'er  I  gaze  upon  the  lines 
Which  thy  inspired  soul  hath  wrought, 
I  from  my  heart  can  truly  say, 
Like  a  brave  soldier  thou  hast  fought, 
Not  with  the  sword  but  with  the  pen. 
In  many  a  battle  fierce  and  long, 
And  through  the  din  of  battle  came 
Triumphant  with  melodious  song. 

Though  now  thou  liest  in  the  tomb, 
And  we  no  more  thy  face  behold, 
Thou  art  not  hid,  we  see  thee  still 
Within  thy  stanzas  of  pure  gold ; 
Though  years  and  ages  pass  away 
And  generations  come  and  go, 
Until  time  ends  will  live  the  name 
Of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


IN  MEMORIAM  155 


TO  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

For  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Dr.  Holmes, 
Aug.  29,  1909. 

Were  Doctor  Holmes  alive  today, 

He'd  be  an  even  hundred 
Years  or  age,  but  death's  strong  hand, 

The  ties  which  bound  us,  sundered. 
And  yet,  not  wholly  so,  for  we 

To  him  are  yet  most  tightly 
Bound,  and  today,  we  tribute  pay 

His  memory  most  rightly. 

When  we  were  boys,  in  common  school, 

How  our  young  hearts  delighted, 
On  Friday  afternoons  when  his 

Sweet  poems  were  recited ; 
"The  one  hoss  shay,"  ''The  old  man's  dreams/' 

The  one  I  best  remember, 
Was  that  about  the  stormy  gale 

Which  blew  so  in  September. 

It  thrilled  my  soul  with  joy  to  read 

About  the  clothes  a  flying, 
And  how  the  lad,  he  wrote  about, 

For  many  days  was  crying 
Because  the  wind  came  through  the  lines 

And  hooked  his  Sunday  breeches, 
And  with  a  demonish  delight, 

Rent  them  both  seam  and  stitches. 

He  said  he'd  ever  mourn  the  loss 

That  storm  to  him  occasioned, 
But  if  he  could  have  realized 

How  young  minds  were  emblazoned 


156  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

With  the  account  he  wrote  of  it, 
And  how  each  boy's  eyes  glistened 

With  pleasure,  and  had  he  but  heard 
Their  laughter  as  he  listened, 

I'm  sure  he  would  have  ceased  to  mourn, 

And  would,  I  do  not  doubt  it, 
Have  been  so  glad  the  storm  occurred, 

So  he  could  write  about  it, 
And  give  amusement  to  the  boys 

And  girls  in  all  creation, 
For  it  is  poetry  like  that 

Which  edifies  a  nation. 

O  Doctor  Holmes,  O  gifted  bard, 

O  great  and  lovely  poet! 
When  thou  didst  pen  those  lovely  lines, 

"The  last  leaf,"  didst  thou  know  it, 
That  thou,  of  all  thy  line  of  bards, 

And  there  was  a  large  number, 
Wouldst  be  the  last  to  close  thine  eyes, 

And  take  thy  endless  slumber? 

Thine  eyes  have  closed,  thou  art  not  here, 

Thy  soul  in  rest  reposes, 
Thy  pen  lies  still,  thy  brilliant  mind 

No  more  sweet  songs  composes; 
But  in  the  hearts  of  many  men 

Today  thou  still  art  living, 
And  millions  to  thy  memory, 

Are  precious  tributes  giving. 


IN  MEMORIAM  157 


Days  will  pass  by,  yea,  centuries, 

And  thousands,  now  begotten, 
Will  pass  away  and  very  soon 

Their  deeds  will  be  forgotton; 
But  until  time  itself  shall  end, 

And  words  no  more  be  muttered, 
The  lines  which  thou  hast  left  behind, 

By  mankind  will  be  uttered. 


TO  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

This  poem  was  written  Feb.  12,  1909,  and  recited  by  the  author 
the  evening  of  the  same  day,  to  a  large  audience  in  Greens- 
burg,  Pa.,  which  had  assembled  to  celebrate  the  hundredth 
anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

One  hundred  years  ago  today, 
Within  a  humble  home  there  lay 
A  baby  boy,  but  none  could  see 
In  him  a  man  of  destiny. 

But  has  it  not  been  ever  thus? 
Did  those  babes  over  whom  much  fuss 
Was  made,  ever  achieve  that  fame 
Which  gives  man  an  immortal  name? 

Ah  no!   our  history  relates, 
The  men  who  made  the  United  States, 
Were  once  the  boys  whose  brawny  arms 
And  sunburnt  faces  graced  the  farms. 

Elisha  held  the  plow  when  he 
Was  called  by  God  and  sent  to  be 
A  comforter  to  Israel, 
He  did  his  work,  and  did  it  well. 


158  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


And  who  will  doubt  but  on  that  day 

When  Lincoln,  a  small  baby,  lay 

Upon  his  mother's  breast  in  bed, 

That  God  looked  down  from  heaven  and  said, 

And  thou,  child,  art  ordained  to  be 

He  who  shall  set  the  slaves  all  free, 

And  thou  shalt  save,  though  with  much  pain, 

These  states  from  being  rent  in  twain. 

I  have  no  need  here  to  relate 
His  almost  countless  deeds  so  great; 
No  need  that  I  the  tale  should  tell, 
Each  school-boy  knows  it  very  well. 

Today  we  pay,  most  fittingly, 
This  tribute  to  the  memory 
Of  him  who  gave  his  life  to  save 
Our  nation,  and  to  free  the  slave. 

One  hundred  years  have  passed  away 
Since  he  first  saw  the  light  of  day, 
And  forty- four  since  he  laid  down 
His  life,  to  wear  a  martyr's  crown. 

The  shot  of  the  accursed  foe, 
In  death,  laid  Abraham  Lincoln  low, 
But  his  good  works  they  could  not  kill, 
Though  dead  he  lives  among  us  still. 

From  us  he  never  will  depart, 
He  lives  in  ev'ry  loyal  heart; 
The  future  years  will  pass  away, 
But  Lincoln's  name  will  with  us  stay. 


POEMS  DEDICATED  TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY       159 


A  £s)ec|icafec[  <Uo 


TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 

Birthday  greetings,  October  7,  1912. 

Hey,  Mr.  Riley,  glad  you  are  here! 
You've  been  quite  ill,  we  had  grave  fear, 
One  year  ago,  that  you  would  be  gone 
Ere  your  birthday  again  would  dawn. 

The  hearts  of  young  and  old  are  glad, 
The  charming  lass,  the  roguish  lad, 
Both  join  in  shouts  of  joy  and  glee 
Whene'er  your  smiling  face  they  see. 

And  have  they  not  great  cause  for  joy? 
The  merry  girl,  the  laughing  boy 
Well  know  who  wrote  those  childhood  rhymes 
Which  made  them  laugh  so  many  times. 

God  grant  you  health,  and  may  you  live 
Three  score  more  years,  and  to  us  give 
Still  sweeter  songs  which  shall  be  sung 
To  cheer  the  hearts  of  old  and  young. 


160  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

WHEN  THE  FROST  IS  ON  THE  WINDER. 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder  and  the  snow  lies  very 
deep, 

When  the  stock  is  kept  in  shelter  and  the  little  snowbirds 
creep 

In  the  strawstack  in  the  barnyard  and  the  purty  quails  in 
flocks, 

Are  a  seekin  cozy  shelter  in  amongst  the  fodder  shocks, 

When  the  trees  are  ornamented  and  their  branches  bend- 
ing low 

With  the  weight  of  icy  crystals  and  the  fluffy  flakes  of 
snow, 

"Oh  its  then's  the  time  a  feller"  in  his  cozy  bed  can  sleep, 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder  and  the  snow  lies  very 
deep. 

There's  my  friend,  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  out  in  In- 
dianapolis, 
Wrote  a  charmin  little  poem,  and  the  first  line  runs  like 

this, 
"When  the  frost  is  on  the  pumpkin  and  the  fodder's  in 

the  shock," 
Then  about  the  farmyard  bipeds  he  proceeds  to  give  a 

talk; 
There's  no  doubt  the  weather's  bracin  bout  that  season 

of  the  year, 
When  the  red  and  yeller  apples  and  the  cornshocks  both 

appear, 
But  come  now,  just  go  with  me,  while  we  take  a  little 

peep 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder  and  the  snow  lies  very 

deep. 


POEMS  DEDICATED  TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY       161 

See  the  fire  burnin  brightly  in  the  cozy  sittin-room, 
While  outside  the  wind's  a  roarin  with  a  whistle  and  a 

boom, 

See  the  children  playin  checkers  and  a  readin  story  books, 
Oh,  one  gets  such  inspiration  from  the  sweetness  of  their 

looks; 
See  old  Grandpa  with  his  paper  as  he  sits  and  reads  the 

news, 
See  the  baby  with  his  rattle  as  he  laughs  and  crows  and 

goos, 
Oh  'tis  on  such  stormy  evenins  that  the  children  learn  a 

heap, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder  and  the  snow  lies  very 

deep. 

When  the  water's  frozen  over  and  we  hear  the  merry 

sound 
Of  the  sleighbells  on  the  hosses  as  they  dash  with  leap 

and  bound, 
And  the  merry  shouts  of  laughter  of  the  happy  boys  and 

girls 

As  one  sleighload,  then  another  up  and  down  the  high- 
way whirls  ; 
True,  the  Autumn  season's  pleasant  on  a  bracin  frosty 

morn, 
When  the  farmers,  filled  with  vigor,  are  a  huskin  at  their 

corn, 

But  I  see  a  movin  pictur  that  is  grander,  yes  a  heap, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  winder  and  the  snow  lies  very 

deep. 


11 


162  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

APPLE  PICKING. 

When  the  Summer  season's  ended  and  bright  Autumn 

has  come  round, 
And  the  schools  again  have  opened,  and  upon  the  old 

playground, 
We  behold  the  children  rompin  ere  the  master  rings  the 

bell 

Per  to  call  them  into  study  and  to  learn  their  lessons  well ; 
Then  we  older  folks  is  huslin  with  our  taters  and  our 

corn, 
Then  it  makes  us  git  up  early  on  a  bright  September 

morn, 
Fer  so  many  things  engage  us  when  this  season  comes 

around, 
Fer  'tis  then  we  reap  our  harvest  from  the  produce  of  the 

ground. 

'Tis  indeed  an  inpiration  when  a  huslin  farmer  sees 
Red  and  yeller  lucious  apples  ornamenting  all  his  trees, 
And  this  season  the  Almighty  has  abundantly  bestowed 
A  large  crop  of  apples  on  us,  trees  are  bending  with  their 

load; 

I  have  Baldwin  in  abundance,  and  my  red  cheeked  North- 
ern Spies, 

Decoration  spreadin  branches,  seem  as  plentiful  as  flies; 
Oh  my  heart  was  filled  with  raptur  as  I  climbed  into  a 

tree 

To  begin  the  crop  to  gether  which  the  Lord  had  sent  to 
me. 


POEMS  DEDICATED  TO  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY       163 

All  day  long  I  kept  a  pickin  and  a  pourin  them  around, 
Till  I  made  it  ornamental  with  the  boxes  on  the  ground, 
Which  I  filled  with  luscious  Baldwin,  Northern  Spies  and 

other  kind, 

All  the  time  I  was  a  pickin  there  kept  comin  to  my  mind 
Words  from  Riley's  charmin  poem  which  I  many  times 

had  read, 
Bout  the  frost  upon  the  punkin  and  the  lines  in  which  he 

said, 
"Then  your  apples  all  is  gethered  and  the  ones  a  feller 

keeps, 
Is  poured  around  the  cellar  floor  in  red  and  yeller  heaps." 

Many  things,  indeed,  delight  us  that  we  work  at  in  the 

fall, 

But  I  find  that  apple  pickin  is  the  pleasantest  of  all, 
Fer  'tis  when  a  feller's  pickin  that  he  thinks  about  the 

treat 
He  will  have  on  winter  ev'nins,  when  his  fambly  all  can 

eat 
These  same  red  and  yeller  apples  which  he  picked  and 

stored  away, 
Of  the  happy  glad  thangsgivin  and  the  joyful  Christmas 

Day; 
Do  you  wonder  that  the  farmer  feels  so  happy  and  so 

free, 
When  he  picks  his  crop  of  apples  by  the  bushels  from  the 

tree? 


164  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 
1853-1916 

Oh  my  sweet  singer  friend !  can  it  be  that  thou  art  dead  ? 
Who  sang  such  sweet  songs  during  years  that  have  sped ; 
Sweet  songs  that  brought  cheer  to  the  old  and  the  young 
In  the  millions  of  homes  where'er  they  were  sung. 
Oh  the  laughter  of  children  and  smiles  of  the  old 
Were  so  very  apparent  when  thy  sweet  rhymes  were  told ; 
But  now  all  are  mourning  for  my  sweet  singer  friend, 
For  his  days  here  on  earth  have  been  brought  to  an  end. 

Oh  my  sweet  singer  friend!   at  this  moment  my  eyes 
Rest  upon  a  small  volume  which  before  me  now  lies, 
Filled  with  sweet  songs  of  thine,  a  present  from  thee, 
Which  will  be,  all  my  days,  very  precious  to  me ; 
As  I  gaze  on  the  pages  I've  read  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  I  think  that  thy  voice  I  shall  hear  nevermore, 
Floods  of  tears  from  my  eyes  o'er  my  cheeks  downward 

roll, 
Ah,  deep  is  the  grief  that  now  o'erwhelms  my  soul! 

Oh  my  sweet  singer  friend!   can  it  truly  be  said, 
That  thou  art  not  alive,  that  thou  art  really  dead  ? 
Oh  no,  'tis  not  true !   though  thy  voice  now  is  hushed, 
And  we  weep  and  are  sad,  for  with  grief  we  are  crushed, 
Yet  still  thou  dost  speak,  the  sweet  melody 
Of  thy  many  sweet  songs,  now  is  speaking  to  me ; 
The  years  will  roll  on  but  thy  dear  name  will  not, 
Jn  the  ages  to  come,  by  mankind  be  forgot. 


POEMS  DEDICATED  TO  JAMES  WH1TCOMB  RILEY       165 

Oh  my  sweet  singer  friend !   we  lay  thee  to  rest, 
May  thy  spirit  take  flight  to  the  home  of  the  blest, 
May  thy  mantle  on  me  fall  that  I  yet  may  sing 
Many  songs  that  sweet  cheer  to  the  sad  heart  may  bring, 
As  thy  songs  oft  to  me  brought  sweet  cheer  and  relief, 
When  my  heart  was  sore  tried  and  deep  was  my  grief ; 
Soon  my  call  will  come,  too,  and  my  days  here  will  end, 
Oh  then  may  I  meet  thee  my  sweet  singer  friend ! 


166  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


(pafriofic 


THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY,  1776. 

Liberty  was  in  the  very  air 
In  Philadelphia  and  ev'rywhere, 
Throughout  each  western  colony, 
Rang  the  one  phrase,  We  must  be  free! 

Then  came  the  Fourth  day  of  July, 
The  people  met  and  raised  the  cry 
In  that  old  quaker  town,  Shall  we 
Today  proclaim  our  liberty^? 

Shall  we  proclaim,  or  shall  we  still 
Bow  to  the  English  tryant's  will? 
Shall  he  his  hold  on  us  relax, 
Or  will  we  meekly  pay  the  tax? 

Shall  we,  like  oxen,  mutely  stand 
And  let  that  tyrant's  bloody  hand 
Plunge  in  our  hearts  his  murderous  dirk, 
Shall  we  our  bounden  duty  shirk? 

What  say  you  men,  what  is  your  will? 
One  moment  the  whole  crowd  was  still, 
No  voice  was  heard,  deep  silence  reigned, 
But  men  could  not  long  be  restrained. 

John  Adams  from  his  seat  arose 
And  in  strong  terms  denounced  his  foes, 
As  his  immortal  words  were  spoke, 
A  fresh  zeal  in  each  heart  awoke. 


PATRIOTIC  POEMS  1  67 


"When  I  look  back  to  sixty  one, 
And  past  events  in  mind  I  run, 
I  am  surprised  that  at  this  date, 
This  revolution  is  so  great !" 

"Britain  has  been  with  folly  filled, 
And  by  that  folly  she  has  killed 
Our  love  for  her,  sad  to  relate, 
It  now  is  turned  to  bitter  hate!" 

"With  wisdom  has  our  land  been  filled, 
The  God  of  heaven  has  so  willed, 
The  countries  shall  forever  be 
Sundered  and  our  land  be  free!" 

"And  it  may  also  be  the  will 
Of  heaven  that  our  nation  still, 
Distresses  be  obliged  to  bear 
And  of  success  may  oft  despair !" 

"But  I  submit  my  hopes  and  fears 
To  God,  it  may  take  many  years 
Of  strife  before  contentions  cease 
And  we  be  left  to  dwell  in  peace!" 

The  voice  of  Adams  moved  the  crowd, 
The  people  shouted  long  and  loud, 
Then  did  the  Congress  thus  proclaim, 
"In  the  authority  and  name 
Of  the  good  people  here,  that  we 
Are  and  of  right  ought  e'er  to  be 
Now  free  and  independent  states !" 
(The  sacred  document  relates.) 


168  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

Great  shouts  of  joy  then  rent  the  air, 
Throughout  the  city,  everywhere; 
Up  in  the  tower,  the  old  bell 
Rang  out,  the  joyful  news  to  tell. 

Ah  yes,  how  joyful  was  the  cry 

On  that  grand  Fourth  day  of  July! 

And  after  many  years  it  still 

Rings  through  our  land,  o'er  vale  and  hill. 

As  that  glad  day  comes  round  each  year, 

Our  patriotic  souls  to  cheer, 

Let  us  remember  what  it  cost 

Those  patriots,  and  what  they  lost 

In  property  and  lives  that  we, 

Their  children  might  ever  be  free. 

July  4.  1908. 


AN  INSANE  FOURTH,  HOW  LONG? 

Another  year  has  rolled  around, 
Again  we  hear  the  deafening  sound 
Like  thunder  in  the  distant  sky, 
It  is  the  Fourth  day  of  July, 
And  firecrackers  everywhere 
Throughout  the  land  now  rend  the  air; 
Halt  ye,  and  gaze  upon  the  scene, 
Ask  what  these  reckless  acts  must  mean! 

They  mean  that  ere  the  day  be  o'er, 
Some  bright  young  boy  will  breathe  no  more ; 
Deep  grief  will  many  bright  homes  fill, 
In  which  a  child  lies  cold  and  still 


PATRIOTIC  POEMS  169 


In  a  small  casket,  his  soul  hurled 
Instantly  to  the  spirit  world, 
Who  was  it  placed  in  that  child's  hand 
The  cause,  do  we  not  guilty  stand? 

How  long,  good  citizens,  shall  we 
Permit  this  state  of  things  to  be? 
When  our  forefathers  bled  and  died 
And  on  the  field  lay  side  by  side 
To  bring  to  us  sweet  liberty, 
'Twas  not  their  wish  that  yearly  we 
Should  celebrate  this  glorious  day 
In  such  a  wild  and  insane  way. 

Stop,  read  the  list  for  but  three  years 
And  you  will  find  in  it  appears 
Thirty- four  thousand  killed  and  maimed! 
Oh  horrible!     I  feel  ashamed 
That  I  live  in  a  city -where 
Authorities  will  not  declare 
Themselves  against  such  insane  work, 
How  long  will  we  our  duty  shirk? 

Arise,  ye  sons  of  liberty, 
Throw  off  the  yoke,  again  be  free! 
For  children's  lives  have  due  regard, 
And  dangerous  methods  now  discard; 
Throughout  the  land,  in  ev'ry  state 
The  glorious  Fourth  let's  celebrate, 
From  lake  to  gulf,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Let  all  rejoice  that  we  are  free. 


170  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

But  let  us  be  discreet  and  wise, 
Good  judgement  let  us  exercise, 
That  proper  methods  may  be  used 
And  no  one's  rights  e'er  be  abused ; 
Let  bands  play  airs,  let  people  sing 
And  then  the  close  of  day  will  bring 
Each  to  his  bed  in  peace  to  sleep, 
And  none  bow  o'er  the  dead  to  weep. 

July  4,  1910. 


SURRENDER  OF  CORNWALLIS. 

For  years  the  cruel  war  had  raged, 
Large  companies  had  been  engaged 
In  battle  and  on  either  side, 
Many  had  suffered,  bled  and  died ; 
The  stubborn  British  still  fought  on, 
Although  all  hope  to  them  seemed  gone; 
The  patriots  fought  long  and  well, 
They  stormed  the  foe  With  shot  and  shell. 

Yorktown  had  been  well  fortified, 
Cornwallis,  though,  was  sorely  tried; 
He  hoped,  behind  his  strong  redoubt, 
That  he  could  keep  our  army  out ; 
But  little  did  that  general  know 
That  Washington  and  Rochambeau 
Would  plant  their  armies  round  about 
His  stronghold  and  would  starve  him  out. 

The  seige  began,  continued  on, 
Cornwallis  saw  all  hope  was  gone ; 
With  ammunition  'bout  all  used, 
He  knew  that  if  he  still  refused 


PATRIOTIC  POEMS  1  7J 


To  yield,  his  army  soon  would  be 
All  slaughtered,  so,  in  agony, 
He  yielded  to  George  Washington, 
America  at  last  had  won. 

Thus,  after  many  years,  the  war, 
Which  spread  destruction  near  and  far, 
Was  brot  to  a  successful  close, 
America  had  won,  our  foes 
Embarked  and  sailed  across  the  sea, 
America,  our  home,  was  free ; 
And  now  above  the  patriot's  graves, 
The  flag  of  freedom  proudly  waves. 


OUR  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

The  Mayflower,  the  Mayflower! 
Oh  how  we  love  the  name! 
Across  Atlantic's  broad  expanse, 
Long  years  ago  she  came, 
Bringing  her  precious  human  freight 
To  bleak  New  England's  shore. 
It  was  that  noted  ship  that  brot 
Our  Pilgrim  Fathers  o'er. 

The  Mayflower,  the  Mayflower! 

The  name  to  all  is  dear ; 

For  was  it  not  that  ship  which  brot 

The  men  who  planted  here 

Religious  liberty  as  firm 

As  Plymouth  Rock,  where  they, 

Weary  and  worn,  first  set  their  feet 

On  that  cold  winter  day? 


172  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

The  Mayflower,  the  Mayflower ! 
The  ship  was  very  small 
Compared  with  ocean  liners  now, 
Which  loom  so  long  and  tall; 
But  never  since  has  any  ship, 
Which  crossed  the  briny  main, 
Brot  to  our  fair  Columbia's  shore 
So  large  amount  of  gain. 

The  Mayflower,  the  Mayflower! 
The  pilgrims,  which  she  brot, 
On  bended  knees,  gave  heaven  thanks, 
And  we,  their  children,  ought 
Never  to  cease  to  thank  our  God, 
Who  brot  across  the  sea, 
Those  pius  pilgrims  to  proclaim 
Religious  liberty. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS  173 


MY  LAST  JOURNEY. 

When  my  mission  here  has  ended 
And  I  lay  my  burden  down, 
And  go  forth  to  meet  my  Master, 
To  receive  the  golden  crown 
Which  is  promised  to  the  faithful 
Who  endure  unto  the  end ; 
I  shall  see  my  blessed  Savior 
Who  through  life  has  been  my  friend. 

(CHORUS.) 

I  shall  lay  my  burden  down, 
And  receive  the  golden  crown, 
I  shall  meet  my  blessed  Savior 
Who  through  life  has  been  my  friend. 

0  the  joy  and  blissful  pleasure 
That  will  then  be  mine  fore'er! 

1  shall  dwell  with  saints  and  angels 
And  their  blessings  I  will  share; 
In  that  bright  and  golden  city 

On  bright  Canaan's  blissful  shore, 
At  the  right  hand  of  my  Savivor 
There  are  pleasures  evermore. — CHORUS. 

O  that  happy  day  is  coming ! 
It  cannot  be  far  away, 
When  I'll  take  my  upward  journey 
To  that  land  of  endless  day; 


174  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

When  I  hear  my  Savior  calling, 

I  will  answer,  Here  am  I, 

And  on  joyful  wing  I'll  journey 

To  that  happy  home  on  high. — CHORUS. 


THE  BLESSINGS  OF  AFFLICTION. 

Afflictions  come,  but  not  by  chance, 
Nor  do  they  from  the  ground  arise, 
They  may  be  heavy,  but  each  one 
Is  but  a  blessing  in  disguise. 

By  faith  I  see  the  hand  of  God 
In  all  afflictions  sent  to  me; 
Therefore  I  will  rejoice  because 
My  future  blessings  they  will  be. 


SWEET  COMMUNION. 

Break  thou  for  me  the  bread  of  life, 
Dear  Lord,  and  let  me  feed 
Upon  that  bread  from  heaven  sent, 
That  which  is  meat  indeed. 

And  let  me  drink  of  that  blest  cup 
Which  represents  thy  blood 
Shed  for  my  sins  on  Calvary, 
Where  flowed  that  crimson  flood. 

Wash  thou  my  soul  with  thy  shed  blood, 

Take  all  my  sins  away, 

That  I  may  at  thy  altar  stand, 

Pure,  undefiled  this  day. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS  175 


And  let  me  ever  live  in  hope, 
And  ever  watchful  be, 
That  I  may  hold  commnnion  sweet 
Forevermore  with  thee. 


CONTENTMENT. 

My  life  is  in  the  hands  of  God, 

I'm  here  to  do  his  will, 
To  be  a  blessing  to  mankind, 

My  calling  to  fulfill. 

Whate'er  he  bids  me  I  will  do, 

I'm  willing  to  be  sent 
On  any  mission,  and  where'er 

I  am  to  be  content. 

E'en  though  the  path,  he  bids  me  tread, 

Be  rough  and  full  of  care; 
I'll  journey  on,  for  He,  my  guide, 

Is  with  me  ev'rywhere. 


JOHN  THE  BAPTIST  COMPARED  WITH  THE 
TRAVELING  EVANGELISTS  OF  TODAY. 

From  out  the  wilderness  he  came, 

He  sought  for  neither  wealth  nor  fame ; 

One  thing  alone  his  soul  desired, 

That  ev'ry  human  soul  be  fired 

With  zeal  to  do  the  Father's  will, 

His  sacred  precepts  to  fulfill; 

Thus  he  came  forth  the  Word  to  preach,     * 

And  hearts  of  sinful  men  to  reach. 


176  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 


He  preached  there  in  that  desert  land, 
That  heaven's  kingdom  was  at  hand; 
To  win  the  hearts  of  men  he  sought, 
The  Bible  truths  he  plainly  taught; 
In  politics  he  took  no  part, 
His  object  was  to  reach  the  heart 
Of  ev'ry  man  and  make  it  pure, 
For  ev'ry  ill,  that  was  his  cure. 

He  wore  no  costly  broadcloth  suit, 
No  pattened  leather  shoe  nor  boot, 
Nor  did  he  of  rich  food  partake, 
He  did  not  dine  on  chops  nor  steak. 
His  garb  was  camel's  hair,  his  food 
Was  locusts  gathered  in  the  wood, 
And  honey  found  upon  the  trees, 
Could  we  now  live  on  things  like  these? 

Now,  where's  the  man  who  ever  heard 
That  he  e'er  said,  I'll  preach  the  Word 
In  cities,  if  for  me  you'll  build 
A  tabernacle,  which,  when  filled, 
Will  seat  about  five  thousand  men, 
This  I  demand  of  you,  and  then 
Demand  I  that  you  guarantee 
Five  thousand  dollars  raised  for  me. 

Our  trav'ling  preachers,  verily, 
Do  not  do  things  the  same  as  he; 
No,  they  are  seeking  for  renown, 
They  want  the  pastors  of  the  town 
To  hustle  round  and  do  the  work, 
The  part  they  readily  will  shirk, 
And  when  their  loud  campaign  is  done, 
They  make  their  boast  of  converts  won. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS  177 


Ah,  Giristian  friends!   we  do,  indeed, 
More  men  like  John  the  Baptist  need ; 
Men  who  will  settle  down  and  teach 
In  humble  districts  and  will  preach 
The  Gospel  in  its  purity, 
A  John  the  Baptist  I  would  be; 
Rise,  Christian  friends,  and  put  to  rout 
These  rattle-brains  who  run  about. 


THAT  HOME  OF  ENDLESS  DAY. 

This  life's  a  wilderness  of  woe, 
Sorrow  I  find  where'er  I  go; 
I  long  to  dwell  beyond  the  skies 
Where  tears  shall  ne'er  bedim  my  eyes ; 
I  look  upward  unto  my  Lord 
Who  tells  me  in  His  precious  Word, 
That  God  shall  wipe  my  tears  away, 
In  that  bright  land  of  endless  day. 

I  would  not  wish  to  make  my  home 
In  this  sad  world,  and  e'er  to  roam 
Where  pain  and  sorrow,  grief  and  woe 
Oppress  my  soul,  I  long  to  go 
To  yonder  shore,  my  Lord  to  see, 
O  how  I  long  with  Him  to  be, 
For  God  shall  wipe  my  tears  away, 
In  that  bright  land  of  endless  day. 

Here,  wearily,  I  tread  this  road, 
And  groan  beneath  this  heavy  load 
Of  sin  and  sorrow,  pain  and  woe, 
But  as  I  on  my  journey  go, 
12 


178  POEMS  FOR  ALL  CLASSES 

My  heart  is  cheered,  for  God  tells  me, 
From  toil  and  care  I'll  soon  be  free, 
For  all  my  tears  He'll  wipe  away, 
In  that  blest  land  of  endless  day. 

Though  I  should  live  a  hundred  years, 
•  And  ev'ry  one  be  rilled  with  tears, 
Should  grief  and  pain  my  whole  life  fill, 
I'll  bow  submissive  to  His  will; 
E'en  though  my  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
I'll  not  despair,  for  well  I  know 
That  God  shall  wipe  them  all  away, 
In  that  bright  home  of  endless  day. 

Lord  Jesus,  be  my  constant  guide, 

Daily  with  me  through  life  abide, 

And  through  all  griefs  and  woes  which  come 

Lead  thou  me  safely  to  that  home, 

To  those  blest  mansions  pure  and  bright, 

Where  all  is  joy,  where  all  is  light, 

Where  God  shall  wipe  my  tears  away, 

In  that  bright  home  of  endless  day. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS  179 


GOOD  BYE. 

And  now,  dear  patient  reader,  I  bid  you  a  kind  fare- 
well. My  desire  has  been  not  only  to  entertain  but  also 
to  instruct.  Remember  that,  after  all,  the  poet  is  only  a 
mortal  man  and  is  subject  to  all  the  frailties  of  the 
human  race. 

I  have  made  an  honest  effort  to  please  and  I  believe  I 
have,  to  some  extent,  succeeded.  Criticise  me  if  you 
will ;  it  will  do  me  good.  But  before  you  lay  this  vol- 
ume aside,  will  you  not  fold  your  hands  and  offer  this 
simple  prayer?  Heavenly  Father,  bless  the  author  of 
this  work.  Endow  him  with  wisdom  from  heaven,  that 
in  all  his  works  he  may  be  guided  by  thy  spirit.  May  his 
writings  bring  happiness  and  cheer  to  millions  of  people, 
and  glory  to  thy  name.  For  Jesus'  sake,  Amen. 


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